THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


The  Jail  Delivery  — Page  181 


A  Vendetta 

of  the  Hills 


BY 

WILLIS  GEORGE  EMERSON 

Author  of  "The  Treasure  of  Hidden  Valley," 
"Buett  Hampton"  "The  Builders"  etc. 


ILUUSTBATIONS  BY  A.  HTJTCHINS 


BOSTON 

The  Chappie  Publishing  Company,  Ltd. 
1917 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
THE^CHAPPLE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY,  LTD. 


All  rights  reserved 


PS 


TO  MY  WIFE 

BONNIE  O'NEAL  EMERSON 


Our  enchanting  years  of  pleasure,  dear,  are  speeding  all  too  fast, 
As  our  ever-fleeting  joys  become  blest  mem'ries  of  the  past. 
Heaven's  blessings,  glad  and  golden,  strew  with  bliss  the  paths  of  life 

When  a  sweetheart,  fond  and  cheery, 

Has  her  "hubby"  for  her  dearie, 
And  her  "hubby"  has  a  sweetheart  for  his  wife. 

— The  Author. 

January  18,  1917. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    GUADALUPE 1 

II.    CHARMED  LIVES 9 

III.  FEMININE  ATTRACTIONS 19 

IV.  BACK  TO  THE  SOIL 33 

V.    AT  LA  SIESTA 42 

VI.     THE  QUARREL 54 

VII.    OLD  BANDIT  DAYS 65 

VIII.    A  LETTER  FROM  SAN  QUENTIN 72 

IX.    TIA  TERESA 79 

X.     THE  HOME  OP  THE  RECLUSE 86 

XI.    A  REJECTED  SUITOR 98 

XII.    THE  SPED  BULLET 106 

XIII.  ACCUSED 113 

XIV.  ENTANGLEMENTS 127 

XV.     BEHIND  THE  BARS 138 

XVI.     PIERRE  LUZON  RETURNS 149 

XVII.     THE  BITER  BIT 159 

XVIII.    ELUSIVE  RICHES 167 

XIX.    THE  JAIL  DELIVERY 177 

XX.     IN  THE  CAVERN 183 

XXI.    A  DEBT  OF  HONOR 194 

XXII.    UNDERGROUND  WONDERS 205 

XXIII.  THE  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR 213 

XXIV.  IN  A  TIGHT  CORNER 223 

XXV.    LOVE  AND  REVENGE 232 

XXVI.     A  DATE  is  FIXED 240 

XXVII.    AMONG  THE  OLD  OAKS 254 

XXVIII.    THE  PRIZE  WINNER 266 

XXIX.    THE  RENDEZVOUS  275 

XXX.    DON  MANUEL  APPEARS 280 

XXXI.  SHADOWS  OF  THE  PAST..                                   .  294 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXXII.    FOREBODINGS 301 

XXXIII.  OLD  FRIENDS 308 

XXXIV.  HEART  SEARCHINGS 316 

XXXV.    AT  COMANCHE  POINT 323 

XXXVI.     OUTWITTED 333 

XXXVII.    THE  DAWN  OF  COMPREHENSION 341 

XXXVIII.     EXIT  LEACH  SHARKEY 349 

XXXIX.     THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  CLIFF 356 

XL.    REVELATION 364 

XLI.     BENEATH  THE  PRECIPICE 374 

XLII.  WEDDING  BELLS..                                            .  384 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing 
THE  JAIL  DELIVERY — Frontispiece  Pa9e 

LA  SIESTA 40 

GUADALUPE  AND  THE  WHITE  WOLF 88 

GRACE  DARLINGTON  CARRIES  LIEUTENANT  MUNSON'B 

LETTER  OF  RESIGNATION  TO  THE  POSTOFFICE  .  .  .  136 
PIERRE  LUZON  LISTENS  AT  THE  DOOR  AND  LEARNS  THE 

WHITE  WOLF  is  NOT  DEAD 184 

AMONG  THE  OLD  OAKS 232 

THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  CLIFF 280 

AWAY  ON  THE  HONEYMOON  TRAIL  .  .  344 


CHAPTER  I 
Guadalupe 

IT  was  a  June  morning  in  mid-California. 
The  sun  was  just  rising  over  the  rim  of  the 
horizon,  dissipating  the  purple  haze  of  dawn 
and  bathing  in  golden  sunshine  a  great  valley 
spread  out  like  a  parchment  scroll.    It  was  a  rural 
scene  of  magnificent  grandeur — encircling  moun 
tains,  rolling  foothills,  and  then  the  vast  expanse 
of  plain  dotted  here  and  there  with  clumps  of 
trees  and  clothed  with  luxuriant  grasses. 

Thousands  of  cattle  were  bestirring  themselves 
from  their  slumbers — some  sniffing  the  air  and 
bellowing  lowly,  others  pawing  the  earth  in  an 
indifferent  way,  and  all  moving  slowly  toward 
one  or  other  of  the  mountain  streams  that  wound 
serpent-like  through  the  valley,  as  if  they  deemed 
it  proper  to  begin  the  day  with  a  morning  libation. 

To  the  south,  commanding  a  narrow  pass  that 
pierced  the  Tehachapi  mountain  range,  stood  old 
Fort  Tejon,  dismantled  now  and  partly  in  ruins, 
picturesque  if  no  longer  formidable — a  romantic 
relic  of  old  frontier  fighting  days.  In  the  fore- 

(i) 


2  A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

ground  of  the  crumbling  adobe  walls,  sheltered 
under  giant  oaks,  was  a  trading  store  and  post- 
office  combined. 

Within  this  building  half  a  dozen  men  were 
in  earnest  conversation,  swapping  yarns  even 
at  that  early  hour.  Perhaps  they,  too,  like  the 
cattle,  had  felt  the  call  for  their  "morning's 
morning." 

A  young  army  officer,  Lieutenant  Chester 
Munson,  was  telling  of  a  rough  experience  he 
had  had  a  few  days  before  with  a  mountain  lion 
in  one  of  the  near-by  rugged  canyons. 

The  story  was  interrupted  by  a  sound  of  gal 
loping  hoofs. 

"Here's  Dick  Willoughby,"  someone  announced. 

The  rider  brought  his  mustang  to  a  panting 
stop,  threw  the  bridle  rein  over  its  head,  and, 
leaping  lightly  from  his  saddle,  entered  the  store. 

Dick  Willoughby  was  a  tall,  athletic,  square- 
jawed,  grey-eyed  young  fellow  who  looked  deter 
minedly  purposeful.  He  was  originally  an  archi 
tect  from  New  York  City,  but  during  the  last  five 
years  had  become  an  adopted  son  of  the  West — 
had  made  the  sacrifice,  or  rather  gone  through  the 
improving  metamorphosis,  of  assimilation. 

"Good  morning,  Ches,  old  boy,"  he  shouted  to 
the  lieutenant. 


GUADALUPE  3 

The  latter  returned  the  salutation  with  a 
friendly  nod. 

"The  camp  was  lonely  without  you  last  night, 
Dick,"  he  said.  "Who  is  the  fair  senorita  that 
keeps  you  away?" 

"That's  all  right,"  replied  Willoughby,  smiling. 
"I  will  tell  you  later."  Then  after  a  genial  all- 
round  greeting  for  the  others  present,  he  eagerly 
exclaimed:  "Boys,  she  is  coming." 

"What!  Guadalupe?"  shouted  everyone  in 
chorus  of  surprise. 

"Yes,  Guadalupe  is  headed  this  way.  I  spied 
her  on  the  mountain  trail  an  hour  ago,  and  thanks 
to  my  field  glasses,  was  able  to  determine  the 
moving  speck  was  none  other  than  the  old  squaw 
herself.  She  is  just  beyond  yon  clump  of  trees 
and  will  be  here  shortly." 

"I  am  wonderin'  if  she's  got  her  apron  filled 
again  with  them  there  gold  nuggets,"  remarked 
Tom  Baker  inquiringly,  while  a  smile  flitted  over 
his  grey-bearded  countenance.  "That  squaw  is 
a  regular  free-gold  placer  proposition." 

/'She  would  have  been  held  up  before  now  in 
the  old  days,  eh,  sheriff?"  laughed  one  of  the 
cowboys.  Tom  Baker  had  been  sheriff  for  a  long 
term  of  years  in  early  times,  and,  although  no 
longer  in  office,  the  title  had  still  clung  to  him. 


4  A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"By  gad!"  exclaimed  Jack  Rover,  another 
cowboy,  and  a  gentlemanly  young  fellow  in  man 
ner  and  appearance.  "She's  not  going  to  get 
back  to  her  hiding-place  this  time,  nor  to  that 
will-o'the-wisp  placer  gold  mine  of  hers  unless 
she  shows  me." 

"That  will  do  for  you,"  said  Dick  Willoughby 
with  an  admonishing  look.  "Don't  you  forget 
that  Guadalupe,  although  an  old  Indian  squaw, 
is  also  a  human  being.  There  is  going  to  be  no 
violence  if  I  can  prevent  it." 

"Well,"  laughed  Jack,  pushing  his  hat  back 
as  if  to  acknowledge  that  he  had  been  check 
mated,  "you're  my  boss  on  the  cattle  ranch,  and 
I'll  have  to  take  your  tip,  I  guess." 

"I  say,  Dick,"  asked  the  other  cowboy,  "did 
you  see  anything  of  the  white  wolf?" 

"Do  you  mean  the  real  wolf?"  interjected  Jack 
Rover,  "or  the  bandit,  Don  Manuel?" 

Willoughby  was  looking  along  the  road  and 
took  no  notice. 

"I  guess  both  are  real,"  mused  Tom  Baker, 
grimly  smiling,  and  a  general  laugh  followed. 

"Well,  I  for  one  will  subscribe  to  that,"  ex 
claimed  Buck  Ashley,  storekeeper,  postmaster, 
bartender,  and  all-round  generalissimo  of  the 
trading  establishment.  "If  Don  Manuel  is  not  a 


GUADALTJPE  5 

wolf  in  human  form,  and  a  bigger  outlaw  than 
Joaquin  Murietta  ever  thought  of  being,  why 
you  may  take  my  head  for  a  football." 

"But  he's  dead,  ain't  he?"  asked  the  cowboy 
who  had  introduced  the  subject  of  the  white  wolf. 

"Just  one  thing  that  I  want  to  emphasize  good 
and  plenty  to  you  fellers,"  said  Tom  Baker,  "and 
that  is—" 

"Here  she  comes!"  interrupted  Dick  Wil- 
loughby. 

A  hush  fell  over  the  group  as  the  bent,  aged 
figure  of  an  Indian  woman  was  seen  approaching 
the  store.  Her  features  were  hidden  by  a  shawl 
that  closely  muffled  her  head  and  shoulders. 

Buck  Ashley  saluted  Guadalupe  with  a  "How?" 
The  squaw  answered  with  the  same  abrupt  salu 
tation,  shuffled  up  to  the  counter  and  said  bro 
kenly,  "Coffee — sugar — tea — rice."  With  her 
left  hand  she  had  gathered  up  the  lower  portion 
of  her  calico  apron  and  held  it  pouch  fashion. 
She  thrust  her  right  hand  into  the  pocket  so 
formed,  and  bringing  forth  a  handful  of  gold 
nuggets,  laid  them  on  the  counter.  Some  were  the 
size  of  peas,  and  others  as  large  as  hulled  hickory 
nuts.  *  Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  the  onlookers, 
who  were  wild-eyed  in  their  astonishment.  Soon 
interest  rose  to  high  tension. 


6  A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Buck  Ashley  tied  up  a  large  package  of  sugar 
and  pushed  it  toward  the  bent  form  of  his  cus 
tomer;  then  resting  his  hand  on  the  counter, 
he  looked  fixedly  at  the  squaw  and  said,  "More 
gold." 

Again  she  thrust  her  hand  into  the  apron 
pocket  and  brought  out  another  handful  of  nug 
gets,  whereupon  Ashley  proceeded  to  tie  up  a  large 
package  of  coffee.  This  done,  he  repeated  the 
request  for  more  gold.  Old  Guadalupe  added 
another  handful  of  nuggets  to  those  already  on  the 
counter,  and  Ashley  tied  up  a  package  of  rice. 

The  squaw  looked  up  at  the  storekeeper  for  a 
moment  and  then  said,  "Tea." 

Buck  Ashley's  laconic  response  was  "More 
gold,"  and  immediately  another  handful  of  nug 
gets  was  brought  forth,  whereupon  a  fourth 
package  was  deposited  on  the  counter. 

Old  Guadalupe  stowed  the  parcels  in  her  apron 
on  top  of  any  remaining  gold  nuggets  she  might 
have  brought.  Then  she  turned  and  walked 
limpingly  away,  through  the  low  brushwood 
toward  a  little  grove  of  gnarled  and  twisted 
sycamores  close  to  the  ruined  fort. 
>  When  she  had  gone  Buck  Ashley  observed, 
"No  use  following  her — not  a  damn  bit  of  use 
in  the  world!  She'll  make  camp  out  there  under 


GUADALUPE  7 

the  trees  until  some  time  tonight,  and  then  vanish 
like  a  shadow  into  the  dark." 

While  speaking,  Ashley  had  been  gathering  up 
the  gold. 

"I  say,  Buck,"  observed  Dick  Willoughby, 
winking  at  his  friend  Lieutenant  Munson,  "it  is 
my  private  opinion  that  that  bandit,  the  White 
Wolf,  has  nothing  on  you." 

Tom  Baker  laughingly  chimed  in:  "If  I  am 
any  judge,  and  I  allow  as  how  I  am,  Buck  here 
would  make  that  pound-of-flesh  Shylock  feller 
look  like  thirty  cents  Mex." 

Ashley  smiled  greedily,  but  in  a  satisfied  way, 
as  he  said  with  unruffled  calm:  "Guess  I'd  better 
weigh  them  nuggets  and  see  how  much  the  old 
squaw's  groceries  cost  her." 

"The  treacherous  Indian  and  the  honest  pale 
face,"  laughed  Dick  Willoughby  in  a  half -rebuk 
ing  tone. 

Buck  Ashley  bridled  up.  His  voice  rang  with 
deep  feeling. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  "you  think  I'm  a  Shylock,  a 
robber,  a  devil  I  expect,  and  everything  that's 
bad.  I  don't  talk  much  about  myself,  but  just 
so  you'll  not  think  too  blamed  hard  of  me,  I'll 
ask  you  a  question.  Supposen  when  you  was  only 
about  fifteen  years  old,  you  stood  by,  tied  hand 


8  A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

and  foot,  and  saw  a  lot  of  redskins  scalp  and  kill 
your  father  and  mother  and  two  little  sisters,  and 
then  rob  your  dead  father  of  over  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  gold,  run  off  the  family  stock,  and  take 
you  to  their  camp  to  burn  at  the  stake  as  a  sort 
of  incidental  diversion  at  one  of  their  pow-wow 
dances;  and  supposen  you  performed  a  miracle 
and  got  away  and  took  an  oath  to  kill  and  rob 
every  derned  Indian  you  might  see  throughout 
the  remaining  days  of  your  life — what,  then,  if 
I  reformed  and  gave  up  the  killin'  and  stuck  to 
robbin',  would  you  blame  me?" 

During  this  tragic  recital  of  his  wrongs  the  old 
storekeeper  had  become  noticeably  excited. 

Dick  Willoughby  got  up  from  the  cracker-box 
where  he  had  been  resting,  and  advancing  with 
hand  extended,  said:  "Buck,  what  you  have  told 
us  presents  the  whole  matter  in  a  new  light. 
Shake!" 

"Thanks,"  replied  the  storekeeper  as  he  turned 
away  to  wipe  a  mist  from  his  eyes. 

Then  quickly  facing  about,  he  called  out  in  his 
usual  gruff,  hale  and  hearty  manner:  "Say,  boys, 
what'll  you  all  have?  This  round  is  on  the  house." 

They  drank  in  silence.  A  fragment  of  Buck 
Ashley's  history  had  cleared  away  a  good  deal  of 
previous  misunderstanding. 


CHAPTER  II 
Charmed  Lives 

THE  spell  of  restraint  that  resulted  from 
Buck  Ashley's  story  was  at  last  broken  by 
the  cowboy,  Jack  Rover. 

"Look  here,  Dick,"  he  exclaimed,  "I'll  give  a 
month's  salary  if  you  will  let  me  take  a  chance 
and  follow  old  Guadalupe.  I've  simply  got  to  find 
out  and  locate  that  sand-bar  in  some  mountain 
stream  from  which  she  brings  in  all  this  gold. 
This  is  the  third  time  I've  seen  our  friend  Buck 
Ashley  collect  a  grocery  bill  from  the  old  squaw, 
and  the  whole  business,  gold  nuggets  and  all,  \s 
getting  on  my  nerves.  Why,  I  dreamed  about 
it  for  a  week  last  time  I  saw  her  forking  out  whole 
handfuls  of  gold." 

"Very  well,"  replied  Willoughby,  "if  you  want 
to  take  the  chance,  Jack,  go  ahead.  But  it  is  a 
mad  project  which  will  end  in  my  expressing  your 
remains  back  East  or  else  planting  you  in  the 
cemetery  on  the  hill.  It's  up  to  you  to  make  your 
choice  before  you  tackle  the  job.  You  certainly 
know  what  happened  to  four  or  five  others 

(9) 


10         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

who  attempted  to  follow  the  old  squaw.  Each 
mother's  son  of  them  was  buried  the  next  day." 

"Oh,  that's  ancient  history,"  Jack  retorted. 

"Not  such  very  ancient  hist'ry,"  remarked  Tom 
Baker.  "I  myself  saw  young  Bill  McNab  drilled 
through  the  heart  with  a  bullet  that  seemed  to 
come  from  nowhere.  After  that  I'll  allow  I  wasn't 
filled  up  with  too  much  curiosity  as  to  where 
Guadalupe  hiked  over  the  mountains." 

"There  was  a  regular  sharp-shootin'  outfit," 
concurred  Buck  Ashley. 

"And  there  wasn't  a  sheriff  in  the  country  would 
have  led  a  posse  into  that  damned  ambush,"  Tom 
went  on.  "There  wasn't  a  sportin'  chance  along 
that  narrow  ledge  round  which  Guadalupe  always 
disappeared.  And  with  all  them  outlaws  in  the 
mountains!" 

"But  the  outlaws  have  been  wiped  out  years 
ago,"  persisted  Jack  Rover. 

"Mebbe,"  said  Tom  Baker,  sententiously. 

"You  forget  the  White  Wolf,"  added  Buck 
Ashley. 

"Which  white  wolf?"  asked  Jack.  "I  put  that 
question  before  but  got  no  answer." 

"Both,"  replied  Tom.  "To  begin  with  I  don't 
believe  that  Don  Manuel  is  dead  at  all.  That 
was  only  a  newspaper  story.  You  may  take  it 


CHARMED  LIVES  11 

from  me  that  the  bandit  won't  pass  in  his  checks 
till  he  gets  old  Ben  Thurston.  I'm  allowin'  as 
how  Ben  Thurston  would  quick  enough  give  a 
thousand  head  of  his  fattest  beeves  just  to  rest 
easy  in  his  mind  on  that  score.  He'll  find  out, 
sure  enough,  some  day." 

"Yes,  when  the  White  Wolf  finds  him,"  inter 
jected  the  storekeeper  with  a  terse  emphasis. 

"What's  that  old  feud  anyway?"  queried  Lieu 
tenant  Munson.  "Tell  me,  Tom." 

"Oh,  it  is  an  old  story,"  the  sheriff  answered. 
"I  thought  everybody  knew  about  it,  but  of  course 
you're  a  newcomer.  Well,  you  see,"  he  con 
tinued,  clearing  his  throat  and  expectorating  a 
copious  and  accurately  aimed  pit-tew  of  tobacco 
juice  toward  a  knot-hole  in  the  floor,  "the  White 
Wolf's  father,  Don  Antonio  de  Valencia,  a  reg'lar 
high-toned  grandee  from  Spain,  had  settled  in 
these  here  parts  away  back  longer  than  anyone 
could  remember.  He  claimed  this  whole  stretch 
of  country  from  horizon  to  horizon.  Then  came 
the  Americans,  among  them  a  government  sur 
veyor  named  Thurston.  He  had  a  pull  at  Wash 
ington  and  managed  to  get  a  legal  grant  to  the 
San  Antonio  property.  Of  course  the  old  Spaniard 
had  no  real  title — his  was  just  a  sort  of  squatter's 
claim.  But  they  do  say  as  how  he  had  lived  in 


12         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

this  here  valley  more  than  half  a  century,  so  it 
was  mighty  hard  luck  to  lose  the  land.  And  the 
boy  Manuel  never  would  admit  the  Thurstons  had 
any  right  to  call  it  theirs." 

"Don  Manuel  had  a  younger  sister,"  interposed 
Buck  Ashley.  "Rosetta,  a  beautiful  girl — looked 
like  a  morning-glory.  Gad!  but  she  sure  had  a 
purty  face.  You  remember,  Tom,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Tom  Baker,  "it's  not  likely 
I  should  forget  the  poor  girl.  It  was  'cause  of  her 
the  quarrel  became  a  bitter  blood  feud — the 
Vendetta  of  the  Hills,  as  we  got  to  calling  it.  You 
see,"  he  went  on,  resuming  the  thread  of  his  story, 
"old  man  Thurston's  son,  Ben,  the  present  owner 
of  the  rancho,  was  in  his  younger  days  a  gay 
Lothario  scamp,  and  he  came  from  the  East  to 
his  new  home  in  California  loaded  down  with  a 
college  education  and  a  mighty  intimate  knowl 
edge  of  the  ways  of  the  world  that  decent  folks 
don't  talk  about,  much  less  practice.  He  had 
not  been  here  a  month  until  he  commenced  makin' 
love  to  little  Senorita  Rosetta.  Before  the  second 
sheep-shearin'  time  came  around,  she  was — well, 
in  a  delicate  condition.  To  save  himself  and,  as 
he  thought,  cover  up  the  disgrace — you  see  he  was 
engaged  to  a  rich  Eastern  girl  of  prominent 
family — why,  the  young  scoundrel  conceived  the 


CHARMED  LIVES  13 

hellish  plot  of  lurin'  little  Rosetta  to  Comanche 
Point  one  dark  night.  And  when  he  got  her 
there  he  threw  her  over  the  cliff — at  least  that's 
the  way  the  story  goes.  Guess  Don  Manuel  was 
about  twenty-five  years  old  at  that  time,  and  Ben 
Thurston  two  or  three  years  his  junior.  Well, 
the  disgrace  killed  Rosetta's  father  and  mother. 
They  died  of  grief  and  shame  soon  after  the  affair, 
almost  on  the  same  day,  and  Don  Manuel  buried 
them  together  in  the  old  churchyard  on  the  hill 
by  the  side  of  his  murdered  sister.  And  it  was 
there  and  then,  they  say,  that  he  took  an  oath  to 
kill  Ben  Thurston.  That  was  mor'n  thirty  years 
ago  and  the  feud  has  been  on  ever  since,  and  all 
us  old-tuners  know  hell  will  be  poppin*  'round 
here  one  of  these  days." 

"But  nobody  ever  sees  the  White  Wolf,  Don 
Manuel,"  added  Buck  Ashley.  "That's  the  ex- 
tr 'ornery  part  of  it." 

"Oh,  you  yourself  are  likely  to  see  him  one  of 
these  dark  nights,  Buck,"  laughed  Jack  Rover, 
as  he  winked  at  the  other  boys.  "A  storekeeper 
that'll  work  night  and  day  stacking  up  money 
year  in  and  year  out  is  liable  to  have  a  call  sooner 
or  later  from  the  bandit  and  his  friends." 

"Oh,  hell!"  was  the  laconic  response  of  Buck 
Ashley.  "Guess  I  sure  can  take  care  of  myself." 


14         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"But  Don  Manuel  may  not  be  alive,"  suggested 
the  young  lieutenant. 

"He's  alive  right  enough,  make  no  mistake," 
said  Tom  Baker,  "although  I'll  allow  I  don't 
know  a  single  soul  who  has  actually  seen  him 
personally  for  more'n  twenty  years.  He  is  a 
kind  o'  shadowy  cuss.  Everybody  knows  him 
by  his  old-tune  deeds  of  high-way  robbin'  and 
all-round  murderin*  for  golden  loot.  I  heard  of 
a  feller  last  year  who  claims  to  have  seen  the 
White  Wolf  when  he  was  makin'  that  last  big 
stage  delivery  over  by  Tulare  Lake.  He  was 
masked,  and  had  all  the  passengers  out  on  the 
roadside  with  their  hands  thrown  up  over  their 
heads  while  he  was  takin'  their  valuables  away 
from  them." 

"It's  a  dead  cinch,"  Buck  Ashley  observed, 
"that  whenever  there  was  a  hold-up  or  a  robbery, 
or  a  murder  in  cold  blood  for  money,  why  every 
body  knew  that  the  White  Wolf  was  again  in  the 
hills  and  playin'  his  cut-throat  game  for  pelf  and 
plunder,  or  mebbe  just  for  revenge  against  the 
gringos,  whom  he  hated  like  hell.  Sometimes  he 
was  not  heard  of  in  these  parts  for  two  or  three 
years,  and  then  he  showed  up  more  blood-thirsty 
than  ever.  His  hand  was  agin  every  man,  and  it 
looked  like  as  every  man's  hand  was  agin  him." 


CHARMED  LIVES  15 

"I've  been  told,"  said  Dick  Willoughby,  "that 
when  the  White  Wolf  was  a  boy  he  saved  the  life 
of  the  old  highwayman,  Joaquin  Murietta." 

"Yes,  them  are  facts/*  replied  Tom  Baker. 
"Leastways  I've  heard  say  so.  They  claim  that 
he  saved  Murietta's  life  from  a  posse  of  deputies 
one  night,  and  altho'  the  White  Wolf  was  only 
a  boy  at  that  time,  yet  a  heap  of  people  think  he's 
the  only  livin*  soul  who  knows  the  whereabouts 
and  location  of  the  secret  cavern  where  Joaquin 
Murietta  planted  his  loot,  amountin',  they  say, 
to  millions  of  dollars  in  gold  and  jewels  and  valu 
ables  of  all  kinds.  The  retreat  always  proved  a 
safe  one  for  the  murderin*  gang,  and  now  they're 
gone  no  one  even  to  this  day  can  find  the  place. 
It's  somewhere  on  San  Antonio  Rancho,  but 
where?  The  White  Wolf  kept  his  secret  well." 

"If  old  Pierre  Luzon  ever  gets  out  of  San 
Quentin,"  remarked  the  storekeeper,  "I  guess  he 
could  tell.  But  he's  up  for  life.  He  was  nabbed 
in  that  same  Tulare  Lake  affair  'bout  which  Tom 
had  been  talkin'." 

"Yes,"  said  the  sheriff,  "two  others  were  shot 
dead  before  they  got  back  to  the  mountains. 
The  White  Wolf  and  Pierre  were  ridin'  alone  when 
the  Frenchie's  horse  stumbled.  They  picked 
him  up  insensible,  a  broken  leg  and  concussion 


16         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

of  the  brain,  and  he  was  the  only  one  of  the 
gang  who  ever  went  to  jail." 

"God  'Imighty,"  exclaimed  Buck,  "old  Pierre 
used  to  sit  around  in  this  here  store  day  after  day, 
smokin*  an  old  foreign-lookin'  pipe,  and  hardly 
speakin*  a  word.  He  used  to  pretend  he  knew  no 
English.  We  never  once  suspected  that  he  was 
one  of  Don  Manuel's  bunch — always  thought  of 
him  as  an  old  sheepherder,  a  bit  off  his  nut,  who 
had  saved  a  few  dollars  and  was  takin*  things 
easy.  And  hell,  all  the  time  he  was  the  White 
Wolf's  look-out  man,  makin'  note  of  everything 
and  passin*  the  word  o'  warnin*  when  there  was 
talk  of  the  sheriff  gettin'  busy." 

"I'll  allow  Pierre  Luzon  fooled  me  proper," 
concurred  Tom  Baker.  "However,  he  got  what 
was  comin*  to  him  all  right,  a  life  sentence,  though 
he  ought  to  have  been  hanged.  Well,  perhaps  it 
is  only  the  White  Wolf  and  Pierre  Luzon  who  now 
know  the  cave  where  Joaquin  Murietta  cached 
his  treasure." 

"And  Guadalupe  perhaps  as  well,"  remarked 
Buck  Ashley. 

"Yes,  perhaps  Guadalupe  also,"  assented  the 
sheriff.  "But  the  White  Wolf  keeps  guard  over 
her." 

"That's  the  real  White  Wolf  this  time,"  laughed 


CHARMED  LIVES  17 

Dick  Willoughby,  with  a  nod  toward  the  young 
lieutenant,  who  had  been  listening  intently  to 
the  tale  of  weird  romance. 

"The  real  White  Wolf?"  replied  Munson,  en 
quiringly.  "You've  got  me  all  tangled  up.  What 
do  you  mean?" 

"Don't  you  know  how  Don  Manuel  came  by 
his  name  of  the  White  Wolf?"  asked  the  sheriff. 

"No,  all  this  folk  lore  is  new  to  me." 

"Why,  gosh  all  hemlock!  He  is  named  because 
of  a  darn  big  white  wolf  that  has  been  seen  at 
different  times  in  this  here  country  for  a  hundred 
years." 

"Wolves  don't  live  so  long,"  protested  the 
lieutenant  incredulously. 

"Well,  this  one  does,"  retorted  Tom,  curtly. 
"Leastwise  he's  been  seen  from  time  to  time 
since  ever  I  can  remember.  In  the  old  days  they 
named  the  White  Wolf  Rancho  after  this  monster 
animal.  It  has  a  charmed  life.  No  one  can  kill 
this  big  fellow,  altho'  lots  of  shots  have  been  fired 
at  him.  And  the  same  was  true  of  Don  Manuel 
de  Valencia.  He  escaped  so  often  that  folks 
believed  his  life  a  charmed  one.  And  so  they 
called  him  the  White  Wolf." 

"I  saw  the  white  wolf  once  myself,"  said  Buck 
Ashley,  "the  real  white  wolf  that  even  now,  as 


18         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Tom  says,  guards  old  Guadalupe  and  makes  it 
best  for  young  fellows  like  you,  Jack  Rover,  to 
leave  the  squaw  alone  when  she  makes  back  for 
her  hidin'  place  in  the  mountains.  I'll  never 
forget  that  morning,  although  it's  more  or  less 
twenty  years  ago.  The  great  shaggy  brute  was 
following  Guadalupe  along  the  trail  like  a  New 
foundland  dog.  In  those  days  I  was  out  on  the 
hills  roundin'  up  some  mavericks.  One  of  the 
calves  broke  from  the  herd  and  scampered  along 
a  trail  that  led  directly  in  front  of  the  old  squaw. 
And  say,  boys,  would  you  believe  it?  From  less 
than  half  a  mile  away  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes 
that  monster  devil  of  a  white  wolf — white  as  the 
driven  snow — make  one  terrific  mad  leap  and  grab 
that  yearlin'  by  the  neck.  Guadalupe  spotted  me 
and  disappeared,  and  the  white  wolf  trotted  after 
her  round  the  bend,  carryin'  the  dead  calf  in  its 
jaws  as  a  cat  carries  a  mouse." 

"Did  you  not  shoot  at  the  wolf?"  excitedly 
asked  Lieutenant  Munson. 

"Shoot,  hell!  What  would  have  been  the  use? 
Didn't  you  hear  what  Tom  Baker  said?  White 
wolves  have  charmed  lives  whether  they  go  on 
two  legs  or  four." 


CHAPTER  HI 
Feminine  Attractions 

TOM  BAKER,  the  sheriff,  cleared  his  throat. 
"You  fellers,  I'm  assoomin',  are  all  boys. 
I  have  been  loafin'  'round  in  this  man's 
land  for  forty  years.  I  was  here  the  day  Don 
Manuel  had  been  buryin'  his  old  father  and 
mother  from  the  little  Mission  Church,  less  than 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  where  we  are  settin'.  He 
was  standin'  right  in  front  of  this  store  when 
young  Ben  Thurston  and  two  of  his  ranch  hands 
rode  up.  If  ever  I  saw  real  bravery  it  was  that 
mornin'.  Don't  take  much  bravery  to  do  some 
things  heroic  when  you  have  your  artillery  handy, 
but  it  requires  the  real  stuff  when  you're  gunless. 

"Young  Thurston  spoke  to  his  companions 
and  they  drew  their  guns  and  kept  them  leveled 
at  Don  Manuel  as  their  boss  dismounted. 

"Don  Manuel  was  one  of  the  handsomest  young 
fellers  I  ever  laid  my  two  eyes  on.  He  walked 
straight  up  to  Thurston,  and  notwithstandin'  the 
two  loaded  pieces  of  artillery  was  pintin'  straight 
at  him  said: 

(19) 


20         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"  'Ben  Thurston,  you  are  the  man  who  killed 
my  sister.' 

M  'You  are  a  damned  liar!'  retorted  Thurston. 

'Yes,  you  killed  her,'  went  on  Don  Manuel. 
*I  found  this  button  in  her  dead  hand,  and 
right  there,  by  God!  is  where  it  came  from. 
Look  at  your  coat.  Your  life  shall  pay  for  this 
dastardly  murder.  If  I  had  my  gun  I  would 
settle  the  matter  now,  notwithstandin'  that 
today  I  have  been  burying  my  beloved  father 
and  mother.' 

"When  young  Thurston  heard  about  there 
bein'  no  gun,  he  snatched  the  tell-tale  button 
from  his  accuser's  hand,  swung  himself  into  his 
saddle,  laughed  mockingly,  and  with  his  quirt 
struck  Don  Manuel  across  the  face;  then  he 
wheeled  round  his  pony  and  rode  away  with  his 
bodyguards  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

"God!  I  will  never  forget  it.  Don  Manuel 
stood  there,  as  white  as  a  piece  of  paper,  and 
never  moved  for  a  whole  minute.  The  quirt  had 
drawn  the  blood  from  his  face  in  one  long  streak. 
At  last  he  turned  away  with  a  resolve  in  his  eyes 
— one  of  them  there  terrible  resolves  that  change 
the  life  of  a  man,  and  went  back  to  the  little 
church  to  finish  the  last  sad  rites  to  his  people. 
It's  my  opinion  Don  Manuel,  from  that  very 


FEMININE  ATTRACTIONS  21 

hour,  turned  bandit  in  his  heart  and  took  oath 
to  murder  all  the  gringos  in  California. 

"As  I  said  before,  that  was  thirty  years  back, 
and  mebbe  a  little  more,  and  I  have  never  seen 
him  since.  But  we  all  heard  of  him  good  and 
plenty.  He  certainly  left  a  red  trail." 

A  silence  followed.  Presently  Buck  Ashley  in 
the  way  of  explanation,  said: 

"That  tombstone  on  his  sister's  grave  was  put 
up  one  night.  Nobody  saw  it  done,  but  everyone 
knows,  of  course,  it  was  the  work  of  Don  Manuel. 
It  has  just  one  word — 'Hermana' — chiseled  on  the 
cross  of  white  marble.  That's  the  Mexican  for 
'sister,'  guess  you  all  know.  So  the  name  Rosetta 
is  only  remembered  by  old-stagers  here,  like  Tom 
Baker  and  me.  And  we  ain't  forgotten  her  pretty 
face  either.  Poor  little  girl!" 

"A  doggoned  shame,"  muttered  the  sheriff, 
meditatively,  his  eyes  cast  down. 

"How  about  the  law?"  asked  Lieutenant  Munson. 

"The  law!"  exclaimed  Baker,  raising  his  eyes 
and  flashing  a  look  of  withering  contempt.  "What 
kind  o'  law  was  there  in  those  days  and  in  these 
parts?  A  gun  was  usually  both  judge  and  jury. 
Besides,  with  the  only  bit  of  evidence  gone,  how 
could  Don  Manuel  prove  anything  agin  a  rich 
young  feller  like  Ben  Thurston?" 


22         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"But  if  he  was  laying  for  him  all  the  time,  how 
is  it  that  the  White  Wolf  never  got  his  man  all 
through  those  thirty  years?" 

"Because  Ben  Thurston  lit  out — he  was  too 
denied  scared  to  live  on  the  rancho  any  longer. 
But  that's  another  story." 

"Let's  have  it,  sheriff." 

"Well,  it's  a  longish  yarn,  and  p'raps  you  fellers 
are  about  tired  of  hearing  me." 

No  one  protested;  there  was  rather  a  move 
ment  of  settling  down  in  pleased  expectancy  of 
something  worth  listening  to.  So  Tom  Baker  con 
tinued  : 

"Ben  Thurston  had  one  warnin',  good  and 
plenty,  and  he  didn't  wait  around  for  a  second 
one.  After  Don  Manuel's  threat,  he  seldom  left 
his  home,  and  a  little  later  went  back  East  again. 
It  wasn't  till  more'n  a  year  that  he  showed  up 
agin  at  the  rancho.  This  time  he  brought  with 
him  his  Eastern  bride,  a  fine  slap-dash  young 
woman  who  could  ride  a  horse  and  handle  a  team 
in  good  shape.  But  we  could  all  see  that  she 
wasn't  too  happy,  for  Ben  Thurston  started  in  to 
drink  heavily,  and  she  was  ashamed  of  him  and 
showed  it." 

"Guess  it  was  to  drown  his  conscience  and  keep 
from  thinkin'  about  Rosetta,"  interjected  Buck 
Ashley. 


FEMININE  ATTRACTIONS  23 

"Like  as  not,"  assented  Tom.  "Well,  anyhow, 
he  hadn't  been  here  very  long  afore  Don  Manuel 
got  him — yes,  got  him  fair  and  square,  although 
he  managed  to  save  his  neck  at  the  last  moment. 
There  was  card-playin'  and  drinkin'  one  night  at 
the  rancho — Thurston  had  got  a  bunch  o'  gay 
young  dogs  down  from  San  Francisco.  Mrs. 
Thurston  had  left  the  room,  and  was  sittin'  out 
alone  in  the  moonlight  on  the  verandah.  Sud 
denly  she  heard  a  sound  that  made  her  sit  up  and 
listen — the  clatter  o'  twenty  pairs  o'  gallopin' 
hoofs  a-comin'  straight  for  the  house.  She  must 
ha'  known  something  about  the  vendetta,  for  she 
rushed  in  terror  to  her  husband  and  gave  him 
warnin'.  He  escaped  by  a  back  door,  and  a 
minute  later  the  place  was  surrounded.  The 
shoo  tin'  came  first  from  some  of  the  ranch  hands, 
who  had  tumbled  out  of  the  bunk  house  and  were 
spyin'  around  corners.  They  said  later  that  the 
hold-up  party  numbered  more'n  twenty,  some  of 
them  masked  with  handkerchiefs  tied  around  their 
faces,  but  others  bold  as  brass  and  not  carin'  a 
dang  who  saw  'em.  Among  these  last  was  Don 
Manuel.  But  Pierre  Luzon  was  a  downy  duck, 
for  no  one  spotted  him,  although  later  on  we  came 
to  know  that  he  played  the  principal  part  that 
night,  next  to  the  leader  of  the  gang. 


24         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Well,  after  the  shoo  tin '-scrap  became  general, 
there  was  a  pretty  scare  in  the  ranch  house — one 
of  the  card-players  dropped,  and  the  others  were 
hiding  under  tables,  when  Don  Manuel  appeared 
and  asked  for  Ben  Thurston.  His  wife,  mighty 
brave,  denied  that  he  was  there — he  had  left  that 
afternoon  for  Visalia  to  buy  some  cattle,  she 
boldly  declared.  Don  Manuel,  always  the  true 
gentleman,  mark  ye,  was  for  believin'  her  when 
Pierre,  his  face  masked,  came  in  from  the  verandah 
and  in  a  low  voice  passed  some  words  to  his  chief. 
Mrs.  Thurston  knew  in  a  moment  that  her  bluff 
was  goin'  to  be  called,  and,  while  the  outlaws  were 
confabbin',  darted  from  the  room. 

"But  Pierre  was  just  as  quick  out  by  the 
verandah,  and  before  she  got  to  the  door  o'  the 
woolshed  beyond  the  horse  corral,  he  was  there  to 
block  her  passage.  It  was  Pierre  who  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  fugitive  sneakin'  into  this  out 
building,  and  now  he  knew  for  certain  that 
Thurston  was  hiding  among  the  bags  o'  wool  inside. 
But  a  cornered  man  is  a  dangerous  animal  and 
it  might  mean  a  good  few  lives  if  the  door  was 
opened  and  any  attempt  made  to  rush  the  place 

"The  gang  was  soon  buzzin*  all  around;  the 
woman,  now  almost  in  hysterics,  was  hustled 
aside,  and  a  few  bundles  of  loose  hay  was  being 


FEMININE  ATTRACTIONS  25 

dumped  into  the  shed  through  an  open  window. 
A  match  did  the  rest.  Within  three  minutes  the 
door  opened  and  Thurston  came  staggerin*  out 
through  thick  clouds  of  smoke.  Pierre  grabbed 
him  and  had  a  noose. around  his  neck  in  double- 
quick  time. 

"The  shootin'  was  over  before  this,  and  some  of 
the  ranch  hands  were  lookin'  on  from  a  little 
distance,  for  now  everyone  knew  that  it  was  only 
the  boss  that  the  night-riders  were  after.  So 
more'n  one  was  able  afterwards  to  tell  the  story — 
how  the  young  wife  threw  herself  at  Don  Manuel's 
feet,  and  with  sobs  and  tears  pleaded  for  mercy. 
And  by  the  living  God  she  won  out  even  after 
the  rope,  with  her  husband  at  the  end  of  it,  had 
been  swung  over  the  limb  of  a  near-by  sycamore. 

"The  White  Wolf  stood  stock-still  for  perhaps 
a  minute,  weighin'  things  like,  his  arms  folded 
across  his  breast.  Then  he  raised  the  weepia* 
woman,  and,  turnin'  to  Thurston,  now  half-dead 
with  fear,  laid  hold  of  him  by  the  shoulder  and 
shook  him  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat.  Then  with 
his  other  hand  he  flung  the  noose  from  around 
his  neck.  'Take  your  miserable  life,  then,  this 
time' — that's  what  Don  Manuel  said.  'Take  it, 
but  the  day  will  come  when  we  shall  meet  again, 
man  to  man,  with  no  woman's  tears  to  save  you/ 


26         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

And  he  pushed  Thurston  away  contemptuously, 
topplin*  him  over  like  a  ninepin,  and  a  minute 
later  rode  off  at  the  head  of  his  men." 

The  narrator  paused,  and  there  was  a  general 
murmur  of  repressed  excitement. 

"My  word,  that's  a  peach  of  a  story,"  exclaimed 
Jack  Rover. 

"He  certainly  was  a  chivalrous  fellow,  this  old- 
time  Don  Manuel,"  remarked  the  lieutenant. 

"And  don't  you  see,"  said  the  sheriff,  "that 
when  a  man  acted  like  that  and  spoke  like  that, 
his  words  must  come  true?  Don't  tell  me  that 
Don  Manuel  today  is  dead  while  Ben  Thurston 
is  still  alive.  But  he  has  taken  mighty  good  care 
of  himself  ever  since  that  day.  He  an*  his  wife 
skipped  East  the  very  next  morning,  and  I'm  told 
they  never  stopped  till  they  got  to  Europe.  No 
body  knows  where  exactly  they  lived  during  the 
time  that  followed,  but  news  came  through  years 
later  that  the  wife  had  died,  somewhere  in  the 
>outh  of  England,  leaving  a  son  behind.  That's 
young  Marshall  who  has  come  West  with  his  dad 
now — the  young  man's  first  visit  and  his  father's 
last  one,  I  reckon,  if  he  sells  the  ranch,  as  I'm  told 
he's  trying  to  do." 

"But  I  say,  boys,"  observed  Jack  Rover,  "what 
do  you  suppose  the  White  Wolf  did  with  all  the 


FEMININE  ATTRACTIONS  27 

gold  he  took  away  from  the  people?  It's  said  that 
in  one  stage  robbery  he  got  over  fifty  thousand 
dollars  of  the  yellow  stuff." 

"Hid  it,"  replied  Buck  Ashley,  "with  Joaquin 
Murietta's  hoarded  gold.  For  it's  sure  as  sure  can 
be  that  Don  Manuel  came  to  know  the  secret  o* 
the  bandits'  cave  where  Murietta  used  to  store 
his  loot.  The  only  thing  anybody  else  knows  is 
that  it  is  around  here  somewheres." 

"But  they  do  say,"  observed  one  of  the  cow 
boys,  "whatever  Sheriff  Baker  may  think,  and  you, 
too,  Buck,  that  Don  Manuel  is  sure  'miff  dead. 
Most  folks  herabouts  believe  that  the  White  Wolf 
has  gone  to  his  long  restin'  place,  sort  a  j'ined 
forces  with  old  Joaquin  Murietta.  The  Tulare 
Lake  affair  was,  I  guess,  his  last  raid." 

"He  ain't  dead,"  muttered  Tom,  determinedly, 
while  Buck  Ashley  also  shook  his  head  in  repu 
diation  of  the  cowboy's  theory. 

"Well,  I  happen  to  know,"  observed  Dick  Wil- 
loughby,  "that  Mr.  Thurston  has  run  down  the 
story  of  the  White  Wolf's  death  in  that  Seattle 
saloon  brawl  pretty  thoroughly,  and  he  is  of  the 
opinion  that  the  big-featured  articles  in  the  San 
Francisco  and  Los  Angeles  papers  were  correct — 
that  the  dead  man's  identity  was  absolutely 
established." 


28        A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"That's  how  he'd  wish  it  to  be,  at  all  events," 
said  Buck  Ashley.  "But  even  now,  when  Ben 
Thurston  ventures  to  come  home  to  the  rancho, 
he  brings  with  him  a  great  big  hulking  body 
guard — Leach  Sharkey,  I'm  told  is  the  fellow's 
name.  That  don't  look  much  like  believin*  the 
White  Wolf  to  be  dead  and  the  vendetta  played 
out,  does  it?  You  can  see  it  in  his  hang-dog  face 
that  it  isn't  any  real  pleasure  for  him  to  be  around 
in  these  parts.  He  ain't  once  paid  me  a  visit  at 
the  store.  Guess  he  thinks  his  hide'll  last  longer 
by  stickin*  close  to  home.  You  owe  your  job  o* 
runnin'  his  cattle,  Dick  Willoughby,  to  the  fact 
that  he's  still  plumb  scared." 

"Oh,  well,  I  am  in  his  employ,"  said  Dick 
loyally,  "and  I'm  inclined  to  give  him  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt  as  regards  these  ugly  rumors  and  idle 
stories.  He  has  always  been  on  the  square  with 
me.  But  perhaps  he'll  stick  to  the  rancho,  now 
he  believes  the  White  Wolf  to  be  dead." 

"He  may  believe  it,  but,  as  Buck  says,  why 
then  the  bodyguard?"  commented  the  sheriff  as 
he  relighted  his  pipe. 

"Yes."  replied  Dick  Willoughby,  "but  I  believe 
he  is  thinking  of  letting  Leach  Sharkey  go.  Per 
sonally  I  would  be  willing  to  wager  that  Don 
Manuel,  whom  no  one  has  seen  since  that  last 


FEMININE  ATTRACTIONS  29 

raid  on  the  stage  coach,  is  dead  and  sleeping  with 
his  sires." 

44 Well,  dead  or  alive,"  exclaimed  Jack  Rover, 
"I  don't  care  a  hang  for  the  White  Wolf  and  his 
buried  treasure.  But  what  I  would  like  to  know 
is  the  exact  location  of  that  rippling  mountain 
stream,  the  identical  sandbar  where  the  old  squaw 
Guadalupe  gathers  up  her  pocket  change  with 
which  to  buy  groceries.  That  would  be  a  heap 
better  than  any  blooming  cave.  Them's  my  sen 
timents." 

As  he  said  this  he  threw  some  silver  on  the  bar 
and  invited  everybody  to  lubricate. 

"Just  nominate  your  poison,  boys,  and  let's 
drink  to  my  finding  old  Guadalupe' s  gold 
mine." 

They  all  laughed  good-naturedly,  and  Lieuten 
ant  Munson  declared  that  he  thought  he  would 
put  in  the  balance  of  his  furlough  days  prospect 
ing.  "You  know,"  he  explained  in  an  aside  to  the 
storekeeper  while  the  latter  was  preparing  the 
drinks,  "I  am  only  here  to  visit  my  old  college 
pal,  Dick  Willoughby,  and  incidentally  see  the 
place  where  my  father  was  a  soldier  in  the  early 
California  days.  He  was  stationed  several  years 
in  Fort  Tejon." 

"That  was  before  my  time,"  said  Buck  Ashley. 


30        A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"The  soldiers  had  abandoned  the  old  fort  when 
I  came  first  into  these  parts." 

Meanwhile  Dick  Willoughby  was  clinking 
glasses  with  Jack  Rover. 

"There  are  some  mighty  pretty  little  senoritas 
hereabouts,"  said  Dick,  "good  American  blood 
mixed  with  Spanish  blood,  you  know,  and  all  that. 
If  a  fellow  could  only  find  the  right  one — under 
stand,  I  say  the  right  one,  Jack — he  wouldn't  be 
losing  any  time  in  chasing  after  the  old  squaw's 
secret  gold  mine  or  the  White  Wolf's  buried 
millions." 

Jack  Rover  laughed  outright. 

"I  say,  Dick,  what  are  you  reddening  up  about? 
Gee,  if  I  had  as  fine  a  lead  as  you  have  staked  out, 
I'd  feel  the  same  way.  Ain't  that  right,  Buck?" 

Buck  Ashley  winked  at  Jack  Rover  and  said: 
"If  you  mean  who  I  think  you  mean,  you  sure  are 
righter  than  right.  I  speak  wide  open  and  unre 
strained  when  I  give  it  as  my  opinion  that  Miss 
Merle  Farnsworth  is  the  finest  specimen  of  young 
womanhood  that  I  ever  set  eyes  on,  and  I  have  seen 
some  girls  East  as  well  as  West.  Take  it  from  me, 
she  is  a  jewel,  she  is  a  regular  beauty  rose.  Yes," 
he  went  on,  "and  too  damned  good  for  that  young 
Thurston  whelp,  who  hangs  around  tryin*  to  act 
smart  whenever  she  and  that  old  duenna  chaperon 


FEMININE  ATTRACTIONS  31 

of  hers  comes  here  to  trade.  I'll  simply  boot  him 
out  of  the  store  one  of  these  days." 

Dick  Willoughby  smiled  in  a  satisfied  way  as 
he  moved  toward  the  door. 

"Well,  hold  on,  Dick,"  called  out  Jack  Rover, 
"don't  be  in  such  a  dangnation  hurry.  I'll  ride 
with  you  in  a  minute.  I've  just  got  this  to  say  to 
you,  Buck  Ashley,  that  I  like  you  better  than 
ever  for  what  you've  said  about  Marshall  Thurs- 
ton.  Even  though  I'm  working  for  the  Thurston 
outfit,  I'm  free  to  express  my  opinion  that  that 
young  feller  is  about  the  meanest  specimen  of 
low-down  humanity  I've  ever  struck." 

"It's  a  case  of  the  second  decadency,  I  suppose," 
remarked  Munson.  "The  worthless  profligate 
spawn  of  the  rich  old  roue,  Ben  Thurston." 

"Such  a  drunken  pup,"  continued  Rover, 
"aint'  good  enough  for  a  half-breed  Indian,  much 
less  for  the  likes  of  the  young  ladies  of  La  Siesta. 
Gee,  if  I  thought  there  was  one  chance  in  a 
thousand  for  me  with  either  of  them,  why  good 
bye  to  that  placer  gold  mine  ambition  that's 
eating  my  vitals,  or  to  the  planted  millions  of  the 
White  Wolf." 

As  he  spoke  the  last  words,  he  followed  Dick 
Willoughby  into  the  open.  Dick  was  standing 
by  his  pony. 


32         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"You're  superlatively  in  earnest,  aren't  you?" 
he  said  as  he  laughed  good-naturedly  at  the 
cowboy. 

"You  bet  your  life  I'm  in  earnest,"  replied  Jack. 
"And  if  you  don't  get  busy  with  that  love  affair 
of  yours,  well,  take  it  from  me,  you  had  better 
look  out,  for  somebody  will  be  picking  the  peach 
right  from  under  your  very  nose.  Well,  so  long, 
Dick;  I've  changed  my  mind;  I'll  not  ride  with 
you.  I'll  see  to  that  bit  of  fence  repairing  up  on 
the  range.  And  who  knows  but  I  may  find  a 
sand-bar  and  a  riffle  sparkling  with  yellow  gold?" 

He  laughed  like  a  big  overgrown  boy  as  he 
touched  the  rowel  to  his  pony  and  galloped  away 
across  the  valley. 


CHAPTER  IV 
Back  to  the  Soil 

JACK  ROVER  is  a  great  boy,"  said  Dick 
Willoughby  to  Lieutenant  Munson  as  the 
two  rode  off  at  a  leisurely  pace  toward  the 
group  of  ranch  buildings  peeping  through  a  clump 
of  trees  at  the  edge  of  the  foothills. 

"A  type  of  Western  character,"  replied  Munson, 
"that  in  a  way  is  quite  new  to  me.  And  yet,  do 
you  know,  I  rather  like  this  Western  atmosphere." 

"Like  it!"  exclaimed  Dick.  "Why,  man,  it  is 
the  atmosphere  in  which  to  live,  move  and  have 
one's  being." 

They  both  laughed  at  his  enthusiasm. 

"Really,"  continued  Dick,  soberly,  "I  would 
not  live  another  year  in  New  York  City  for  all 
the  property  fronting  on  the  Circle,  the  coming 
centre  of  old  Gotham.  Out  here  a  man  is  a  man 
for  what  he  is  worth.  You  grow  bigger,  you 
think  broader  thoughts,  you  are  not  confined  to 
following  precedents  or  taking  orders  from  the 
man  higher  up." 

"Oh,  I  know,"  replied  Munson,  "or  at  least  I 

(33) 


34         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

am  beginning  to  understand  something  of  what 
you  mean.  I  have  only  been  here  ten  days  and 
I  am  already  feeling  loath  to  return  to  my  post." 

"Ches,"  exclaimed  Dick,  turning  abruptly  and 
facing  his  companion,  "give  it  all  up,  old  fellow, 
and  come  and  live  in  this  glorious  country — 
California!  There's  music  in  the  very  name. 
It  is  the  land  of  sunshine,  of  fruits  and  flowers,  and 
of  pretty  girls  into  the  bargain." 

"You  keep  telling  me  of  the  pretty  girls,  but 
when  am  I  to  see  them?"  questioned  Munson. 
"If  you  have  any  real  senoritas  who  will  cause  a 
fellow  to  forsake  his  Eastern  home  and  send  in 
his  resignation  to  army  headquarters,  let  me  get 
a  peep  at  them." 

Again  they  both  laughed,  this  tune  at  the  chal 
lenge  in  Munson's  words. 

"All  right,"  said  Dick,  "you  shall  see  them. 
And,  by  the  way,  don't  you  remember  that  this 
is  the  very  day  we  have  arranged  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Darlington  at  the  Rancho  La  Siesta?  It  is  a 
beautiful  place,  this  little  rancho,  and  Mrs. 
Darlington  you  will  find  to  be  a  most  admirable 
woman.  But  just  wait  until  you  see  Grace 
Darlington." 

"How  about  Miss  Farns worth?" 

"Not  for   you,   old   man,"   replied   the   other 


BACK  TO  THE  SOIL  35 

quickly,  reddening  at  the  temples.  "Not  as  long 
as  my  name  is  Dick  Willoughby — providing,  you 
understand,  always  providing  that  I  shall  prove 
successful  in  my  wooing." 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that,  Dick?" 

"Well," — his  laughing  tone  was  only  a  mask  to 
deeper  feelings — "I  cannot  deny  that  I  am  pretty 
hard  hit." 

"My,  but  you  do  whet  my  impatience,"  said  the 
lieutenant.  "And  I  am  about  as  anxious  to  be 
paying  that  afternoon  call  as  I  am  to  have  my 
breakfast.  I  don't  know  how  you  feel,  Dick, 
but  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  lean  coyote."  He  paused 
a  moment,  then  asked  in  a  musing  tone:  "How 
far  away  is  this  wonderful  La  Siesta  Rancho?" 

"Oh,  only  about  twenty  miles." 

"Twenty  miles!  You  speak  of  miles  out  here 
in  the  same  way  as  we  speak  of  city  blocks  back 
in  New  York.  Surely  it  must  be  quite  a  farm." 

"Quite  a  farm?  I  should  say!  You  musn't 
confound  our  Californian  ranches  with  Eastern 
farms,  old  man.  Why,  this  rancho  of  San  Antonio 
covers  over  four  hundred  square  miles  of  terri 
tory." 

"You  astonish  me." 

"La  Siesta  Rancho  adjoins  the  great  San 
Antonio  possession  and  contains  comparatively 


36        A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

few  acres,  just  under  three  thousand.  But  it 
surely  is  a  beautiful  little  place,  fixed  up  like  a 
nobleman's  park  in  the  old  world.  And  then 
the  ladies — " 

"Aha,  the  ladies,"  repeated  Munson,  doffing  his 
hat  in  courtly  fashion  and  smiling  audaciously. 

Dick  touched  the  flank  of  his  pony  with  his 
spur,  and  for  a  few  miles  they  rode  on  at  a  quicker 
pace  and  in  silence.  Soon  they  were  approaching 
the  ranch  buildings.  On  the  outer  edge  was  a 
little  cottage,  covered  with  vines  and  surrounded 
by  fruit  trees,  the  place  which  Dick  Willoughby, 
the  cattle  foreman,  had  called  "home"  for  the  past 
five  years. 

After  turning  their  horses  into  a  corral,  they 
passed  by  way  of  a  broad  verandah  into  a  big 
room,  roughly  but  comfortably  furnished.  Some 
logs  were  smouldering  in  the  fireplace,  and  quickly 
started  into  a  bright  blaze  when  Dick  kicked 
them  together.  The  warmth  was  grateful,  for 
while  out  of  doors  everything  was  now  bathed  in 
genial  sunshine,  here  the  morning  air  was  still 
keen. 

A  Chinaman  appeared  from  the  back  quarters, 
and  smiled  expectantly. 

"Breakfast,  Sing  Ling,"  called  out  Dick,  "and 
just  as  quick  as  you  can  serve  it." 


BACK  TO  THE  SOIL  37 

Sing  Ling  departed  as  noiselessly  as  he  had  come. 

"These  are  certainly  great  quarters,"  observed 
Munson,  settling  himself  in  a  big  Old  Mission 
rocker  and  glancing  around. 

The  walls,  curiously  enough,  were  pretty  well 
covered  with  pen-and-ink  sketches  and  designs 
of  buildings  that  might  have  adorned  an  archi 
tect's  office,  while  there  was  a  partly  completed 
landscape  painting  in  oils  standing  on  a  rudely 
fashioned  easel. 

"And  you've  certainly  stuck  to  the  old  line  of 
work,  Dick,"  the  lieutenant  went  on. 

"Of  course  one  must  have  something  to  think 
about  when  he  is  all  alone  in  a  new  country," 
replied  Willoughby.  "But  most  of  that  stuff 
I  did  in  my  first  year  here,"  he  added,  following 
the  other's  survey  of  the  walls. 

"You  still  paint,  however,"  remarked  Munson, 
his  eyes  resting  on  the  unfinished  canvas. 

"Or  try  to,"  was  the  laughing  response. 

"Oh,  that's  a  modest  way  of  putting  it.  Do 
you  know,  old  man,"  Munson  went  on,  "since  I 
came  here  I  have  often  thought  what  a  marvelous 
change  has  been  wrought  in  you — what  a  trans 
planting  has  taken  place?  You  were  a  chronic 
New  Yorker,  except  for  that  one  year  you  spent 
in  the  Latin  Quarter  of  gay  Paree.  You  thought 


38         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

then  you  were  going  to  make  a  great  painter. 
And,  by  gad,  I  almost  believe  so  myself,"  he 
added,  bending  forward  to  make  a  more  critical 
scrutiny  of  the  work  on  the  easel.  "By  jove, 
that's  really  fine,  Dick." 

"I'm  afraid  that's  flattery,  Chester,  my  boy," 
responded  Willoughby.  "However,  it  sounds 
good  to  hear  you  say  so.  A  word  of  appreciation 
is  what  all  hearts  hunger  for.  Personally  I  even 
believe  in  a  moderate  amount  of  flattery.  Its 
psychic  influence  is  more  potent  in  arousing  and 
causing  the  heart  to  throb  with  ambition  than  all 
the  stimulants,  drugs  or  reasoning  in  the  world. 
Indeed,  without  a  certain  amount  of  flattery  one 
becomes  ambitionless,  languid,  and  perishes; 
whereas  the  unexpected  caress  or  kindly  words  of 
praise  from  loved  ones,  just  or  unjust,  adds  more 
strength  to  the  good  right  arm  of  the  bread 
winner  than  all  the  beef  in  Christendom,  and 
makes  the  sunshine  seem  brighter  and  earth's 
every  breeze  a  south  wind  blowing  across  beds  of 
violets." 

"A  bit  of  a  poet,  too,  I  see,"  smiled  Munson. 

Willoughby  made  no  reply.  He  had  crossed 
over  to  the  open  door  and  was  looking  out  on  the 
valley  that  stretched  away  for  miles — great  oak 
trees  in  the  foreground,  with  cattle-dotted  pasture 


BACK  TO  THE  SOIL  39 

lands  beyond.  Waving  his  hand  toward  the  vast 
expanse,  he  said: 

"Just  look  at  that  for  a  picture,  and  see  how 
tame  a  man-made  gallery  is  as  compared  with  this 
great  art  gallery  of  Nature.  Do  you  know,  Ches, 
I  despise  New  York?  There  was  a  time,  when  I 
first  came  here,  that  I  felt  I  should  die  of  ennui, 
yearning  for  the  Great  White  Way  once  again. 
But  I  have  outgrown  all  that.  I  know  now,  thank 
God,  there's  nothing  to  it.  Here  a  man  can  fill 
his  lungs  with  pure  air,  and  at  the  same  time 
feast  his  soul  all  day  long  with  beautiful  things.'* 

There  followed  a  brief  interval  of  silence. 
Munson  had  risen  and  joined  his  comrade  at  the 
door.  Both  were  gazing  over  the  glorious  sun 
lit  sweep  of  territory  rimmed  by  the  distant, 
pine-clad  hills.  In  the  heart  of  Dick  Willoughby 
was  supreme  contentment,  in  that  of  Chester 
Munson  a  vague  longing  to  get  away  from  red- 
tape  army  routine  and  breathe  the  exhilarating 
and  inspiring  freedom  of  life  in  the  open. 

"Blakeflast,"  bleated  a  soft  voice  behind  them, 
and  turning  round  they  found  the  suave,  smiling 
Chinaman  with  hand  outstretched  toward  the 
smoking  viands  upon  the  table.  Sentiment  was 
instantly  forgotten  in  favor  of  lamb  chops  grilled 
to  a  turn,  a  great  fluffled  omelette  with  fine  herbs 


40         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  Parisian  chef, 
and  coffee  that  was  veritable  nectar. 

At  last  appetite  was  satisfied.  The  lieutenant 
had  produced  his  cigar  case,  Dick  was  filling  his 
briar-root  pipe  with  tobacco  from  the  humidor. 
The  latter  spoke: 

"Say,  Ches,  we  were  talking  about  New  York. 
Do  you  want  me  to  give  you  a  toast  on  that 
modern  Babylon?" 

"Sure,  old  man,  go  ahead !  You  know  I  haven't 
lost  my  interest  in  old  Gotham,  by  any  manner 
of  means.  It  may  be  a  modern  Babylon.  But 
to  me  it  is  none  the  less  the  greatest  of  American 
cities." 

"That's  just  the  trouble,"  said  Dick,  seriously. 
"It  is  too  great.  There  identities  are  swallowed 
up.  Individualism  cannot  survive.  It  is  all  one 
great  composite." 

"Well,  let  us  hear  the  toast." 

Dick  raised  his  cup  of  coffee  and  said:  "Very 
well,  here  it  is;  here  is  my  opinion  of  New  York: 

'Vulgar  in  manners;    overfed, 
Over-dressed  and  under-bred; 
Heartless,  godless,  hell's  delight, 
Rude  by  day  and  lewd  by  night. 
Bedwarfed  the  man,  enlarged  the  brute; 
Ruled  by  boss  and  prostitute. 
Purple  robed  and  pauper  clad; 
Raving,  rotten,  money  mad; 


La  Siesta  —  Page  44 


BACK  TO  THE  SOIL  41 

A  squirming  herd  in  Mammon's  mesh; 
A  wilderness  of  human  flesh; 
Crazed  by  avarice,  lust  and  rum — 
New  York!  thy  name's  delirium.'  " 

"Great  Heavens,  old  man,"  exclaimed  Munson, 
when  Dick  had  finished,  "you  are  severe,  to  say 
the  least." 

Willoughby  laughed  good-naturedly  as  he 
passed  the  match  box  to  his  friend. 

"Not  severe,  only  truthful,"  he  said.  "You 
see,  in  New  York  no  man  dares  think  for  himself. 
Everything  is  controlled  by  a  machine-appointed 
chairman,  secretary  and  committee,  and  you  must 
hear  the  resolutions  read  before  you  know  the 
doctrine  you  are  perforce  to  advocate." 

Then  he  lit  his  pipe  and  rose  from  the  table. 

"Now,  I  have  a  lot  of  things  to  attend  to,  old 
fellow,"  he  resumed.  "Make  yourself  comfort 
able.  Here's  a  bunch  of  Eastern  newspapers — 
oh,  I  read  them  regularly,  haven't  got  rid  of  that 
bad  habit  yet.  I'll  tell  Sing  Ling  to  have  lunch 
ready  on  the  stroke  of  noon.  Then  we'll  be  in 
good  time  to  start  out  for  the  Rancho  La  Siesta. 
So  long!" 


CHAPTER  V 
At  La  Siesta 

SOON  after  one  o'clock  Dick  Willoughby  and 
Chester  Munson  were  again  in  the  saddle. 
They  galloped  along  the  foothills  for  some 
time  in  silence.  But  coming  to  the  boulder-strewn 
wash  of  a  mountain  stream,  they  had  perforce  to 
rein  their  horses  to  a  walk.  Conversation  was  now 
possible. 

"Dick,  will  you  give  me  a  job  as  a  cowboy  if 
I  quit  the  army?"  asked  Munson  abruptly. 

"Surest  thing  you  know,"  replied  Dick.  "But 
why  try  to  kid  me  like  that?" 

"Oh,"  laughed  the  other,  "I  am  not  jesting." 

"Well,  by  gad,  if  you  feel  that  way  already, 
the  chances  are  you  will  write  out  your  resignation 
when  you  get  back  to  the  shack  tonight." 

"You  mean  by  that — 

*'I  mean,"  said  Dick,  smiling  benignly  at  his 
friend,  "that  when  you  have  once  seen  Grace 
Darlington  you  will  feel  like  browsing  on  the 
California  range  until  you  have  learned  to  throw 
a  riata." 

(42) 


AT  LA  SIESTA  4S 

"Oh,  it  is  not  the  thought  of  any  mere  girl  that 
will  influence  my  decision.  I  feel  like  getting 
back  to  Nature — back  to  the  soil — back  to  a  life 
of  untrammeled  freedom." 

"Back  to  unspoiled  womanhood,"  added  Dick 
sententiously. 

"Well,  you've  certainly  got  my  curiosity 
aroused  over  these  young  ladies  at  La  Siesta. 
How  much  farther  do  we  have  to  go?" 

"Within  an  hour,  sir,  within  the  hour,  my  lord, 
shall  you  see  the  lady  fair.  But  remember,"  Dick 
went  on  banteringly,  "that  you  are  not  to  practise 
any  riata- thro  wing  on  Miss  Merle  Farns  worth." 

"I  understand.  But  we  won't  fall  out  over  her. 
You  may  have  your  beautiful  brunette.  I  have 
always  been  partial  to  blondes." 

"In  the  plural  number,"  grinned  Dick.  "But 
Grace  Darlington  will  dim  the  light  of  all  your 
previous  flames.  She  is  the  most  perfect  blonde 
you  have  ever  yet  encountered." 

"You  are  certainly  enthusiastic — for  a  disin 
terested  party." 

"Well,  you'll  say  the  same  thing,  Ches,  my  boy, 
when  you  see  her." 

It  was  not  yet  four  o'clock  when  they  ap 
proached  the  Rancho  La  Siesta.  The  house  was 
of  a  style  quite  unusual  in  California — a  miniature 


44         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

castle  that  might  have  been  planned  by  some 
European  architect  of  renown.  It  stood  amid 
noble  oak  trees,  old  and  gnarled  and  of  gigantic 
size,  but  not  too  numerous  to  hide  the  architec 
tural  features  of  the  building.  To  the  rear  the 
trees  grew  more  thickly  till  they  finally  merged 
into  one  great  forest  that  covered  the  lower  ridge 
of  the  mountain  beyond.  Far  up,  just  within  the 
timber  line,  could  be  seen  the  red-tiled  roof  of  a 
house  which  Dick  told  his  friend  was  the  home 
of  a  Mr.  Ricardo  Robles.  Beneath  the  forest,  the 
gently  undulating  lands  sloped  away  to  a  consid 
erable  stream  that  dashed  down  from  one  of  the 
mountain  canyons  and  debouched  into  the  great 
valley. 

"Whew!"  exclaimed  Munson  admiringly,  as 
they  rode  up  and  turned  their  horses  over  to  an 
attendant.  "Some  swell  architecture  around  here! 
Is  this  your  work,  Dick?" 

"Oh,  no!"  replied  Willoughby.  "I  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  But  I  do  like  the  architectural 
lines  of  Mrs.  Darlington's  home.  She's  English 
and  has  English  tastes,  and  transplanted  ideas 
are  not  always  successful  in  a  new  country.  But 
in  this  case  the  building  just  seems  to  fit  the 
scenery.  It  has  always  delighted  me." 

"It  is  certainly  beautiful,"  concurred  Munson 


AT  LA  SIESTA  45 

as  they  walked  along  a  winding  graveled  pathway 
that  climbed  the  gentle  slope  and  led  to  the  portico 
of  the  mansion. 

Around  them  were  gay  beds  of  flowers  dotting 
the  greensward.  Almost  hiding  the  columns  of 
the  portico  were  climbing  roses,  one  bush  of  the 
purest  white,  the  other  of  deep  crimson. 

As  they  passed  under  the  porch  roof,  a  hand 
some  and  well-preserved  lady  of  middle  age 
appeared  at  the  top  of  the  steps  with  a  welcoming 
smile.  She  descended  to  give  them  gracious 
greeting. 

"How  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  Mr.  Willoughby. 
No  one  could  be  more  welcome  at  La  Siesta." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Dick  with  marked  chivalry. 
"Mrs.  Darlington,  permit  me  to  present  my  friend, 
Lieutenant  Munson." 

The  introduction  over,  they  ascended  the  steps 
together,  and  passed  into  a  spacious  courtyard, 
with  broad  verandahs  running  all  around  and  a 
fountain  playing  in  the  centre.  The  hostess  con 
ducted  her  visitors  to  a  cosy  corner,  screened  by 
glass  panels  from  the  open  air  and  furnished  with 
rich  Persian  rugs,  divans,  cushions,  tapestries, 
carved  ebony  tabarets,  all  in  oriental  fashion. 
When  they  were  comfortably  settled,  she  opened 
the  conversation. 


46         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Lieutenant,  the  young  ladies  of  La  Siesta  are 
most  impatient  to  meet  you.  Mr.  Willoughby 
has  told  us  so  much  about  you  and  yet  has  been 
so  very  dilatory — yes,  really  you  have,  Mr. 
Willoughby — in  bringing  you  over,  that  we  have 
put  down  several  black  marks  against  his  name." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  stammered  the  young  officer, 
reddening.  "I  quite  agree  with  you  about  Wil 
loughby,  for  I  have  been  pleading  with  him  to 
present  me  from  the  very  first  day  of  my  arrival." 

Turning  to  Mrs.  Darlington,  Dick  laughingly 
protested:  "My  dear  Mrs.  Darlington,  that  is  the 
first  whopper  you  have  heard  from  my  esteemed 
friend.  You  have  yet  to  learn  that  he  always 
speaks  in  the  superlative  degree." 

At  this  moment  Grace  Darlington  stepped 
through  one  of  the  French  windows.  As  she  stood 
hesitating  for  a  moment,  Chester  Munson  there 
and  then  agreed  with  all  the  preliminary  praise  Dick 
Willoughby  had  bestowed.  She  was  certainly  a 
vision  of  loveliness,  with  a  wealth  of  golden  hair 
and  eyes  of  sapphire  blue;  petite,  her  figure  plump 
but  beautifully  molded,  her  cheeks  aglow  with  the 
red  roses  of  health  and  youth  and  happiness. 

"My  daughter  Grace,"  announced  Mrs.  Dar 
lington,  rising  and  formally  introducing  the 
lieutenant  to  her  as  she  joined  the  group. 


AT  LA  SIESTA  47 

Again  Munson  blushed  and  stammered.  Dick 
was  chuckling;  he  saw  that  the  gallant  son  of 
battle,  with  a  penchant  for  blonde  beauties,  had 
succumbed  to  the  first  glance  from  Grace  Dar 
lington's  eyes. 

"Delighted  to  meet  you,  Lieutenant  Munson," 
she  declared  with  frank  friendliness  as  they  shook 
hands. 

"Where's  Merle?"  asked  Dick  almost  before 
Grace  had  time  to  turn  to  him. 

"There  now,  Mr.  Impatience,"  she  replied, 
shaking  her  finger  teasingly  at,  him,  "Merle  will 
be  here  in  her  own  good  tune.  She's  busy  with 
Bob  just  now." 

"Who  the  dickens  is  Bob?"  asked  Dick,  visibly 
disconcerted. 

"Oh,  her  new  Irish  terrier,"  laughed  Grace,  her 
voice  ringing  with  mischievous  merriment.  "And 
such  a  beauty!" 

Dick  breathed  again.  The  lieutenant  had  re 
covered  his  composure;  it  was  his  turn  now  to 
bestow  a  sardonic  smile  upon  his  comrade. 

"We'll  have  afternoon  tea,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Darlington.  "And  of  course  you  two  young  men 
will  stay  for  dinner." 

Both  uttered  a  simultaneous  protest — they  were 
only  in  riding  clothes.  But  Mrs.  Darlington  made 


48         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

short  work  of  the  argument,  and  touched  a  push 
button  by  her  side.  A  maid  responded,  the  extra 
covers  for  dinner  were  ordered,  and  meanwhile  tea 
was  to  be  sent  on  to  the  verandah.  Pleasant  small 
talk  succeeded,  the  lieutenant  being  called  upon 
for  his  first  impressions  of  California. 

Of  a  sudden  Grace  exclaimed  in  a  voice,  half  of 
joy,  half  of  surprise: 

"Why,  here  comes  Mr.  Robles!" 

Advancing  along  the  verandah,  hat  in  hand,  was 
a  man  of  striking  presence  and  dignity,  perhaps 
fifty  years  of  age.  His  jet  black  hair  was  streaked 
with  gray,  the  full  beard  almost  verging  on  white 
ness.  Olive  complexion  and  brown  eyes,  together 
with  the  courtly  manner  of  his  salutation,  indi 
cated  the  thoroughbred  Castilian. 

He  bowed  and  raised  to  his  lips  the  hand  of  his 
hostess.  To  Grace  he  paid  the  same  deference. 
Next  he  turned  to  Dick  Willoughby  and  extended 
his  hand. 

"I  have  met  Mr.  Willoughby.  I  am  pleased, 
sir,  to  see  you  again." 

Then  his  eyes  rested  on  Lieutenant  Munson, 
and  Mrs.  Darlington  presented  the  young  army 
officer. 

"And  where,  I  pray,  is  Miss  Merle?"  Mr.  Robles 
finally  asked,  glancing  around. 


AT  LA  SIESTA  49 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know,"  blurted  out 
Dick.  Then  he  reddened  just  a  little. 

The  older  man  looked  kindly  at  Dick,  and 
smilingly  said:  "The  audacity  of  youth." 

"Yes,"  put  in  Grace,  "the  audacity  and  the 
impatience  as  well." 

But  just  at  that  moment  there  floated  from  the 
recesses  of  the  home  the  fragment  of  a  song:  "I 
dreamt  I  dwelt  in  marble  halls,  with  vassals  and 
serfs  at  my  side." 

"Ah,  here  comes  the  recreant  now,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Darlington. 

The  song  stopped  abruptly,  and  a  moment  later 
Merle  Farns worth  appeared.  She  went  first  of 
all  to  Mr.  Robles  and  greeted  him  warmly,  giving 
him  both  her  hands,  which  he  kissed  in  his  princely 
fashion.  For  Willoughby  she  had  a  pleasant  smile, 
and  for  his  friend,  the  lieutenant,  a  kindly  welcome 
to  California. 

The  tea  tray  had  meanwhile  arrived,  and  soon 
both  the  young  ladies  were  busy  attending  to 
their  guests.  While  he  sipped  his  tea,  Munson 
completed  his  inspection  of  Merle  Farns  worth — 
dispassionately,  for  the  brunette  type  of  beauty 
had  never  yet  made  his  pulses  beat  faster.  But 
he  could  none  the  less  admire.  She  was  a  stately 
girl,  taller  than  Grace  Darlington,  with  fine, 


50         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

regular  features  and  brown  eyes  that  matched  the 
dark  heavy  braids  of  her  hair.  Her  manner  was 
alert  and  vivacious,  yet  there  was  the  quiet  dignity 
of  gentle  breeding  even  in  her  smile. 

After  half  an  hour  of  general  conversation,  Mr. 
Robles  arose  to  take  his  leave,  notwithstanding 
Mrs.  Darlington's  pressing  invitation  that  he 
should  remain  and  join  the  dinner  party. 

"My  home  is  not  far  away,"  he  said  when 
shaking  hands  with  Munson,  "up  in  the  woods 
yonder.  Perhaps  you  may  have  seen  it  as  you 
came  along  the  road." 

"Yes,"  observed  Dick,  "I  pointed  it  out  to  the 
lieutenant." 

"Well,  both  you  gentlemen  are  cordially  in 
vited  to  pay  me  a  visit  any  time  you  are  riding 
through  this  part  of  the  country.  Although  I  live 
far  away  from  the  busy  world,  and  am  a  recluse 
by  choice,  I  have  some  things  that  may  interest 
you — pictures,  old  manuscripts  and  books  of  the 
Spanish  days." 

"Pictures?"  interposed  Dick,  inquiringly. 

"Yes,  a  few  that  I  picked  up  during  several 
visits  to  Europe." 

"If  people  only  knew  it,"  remarked  Mrs.  Dar 
lington,  "Mr.  Robles  has  perhaps  one  of  the  finest 
private  picture  galleries  in  America." 


AT  LA  SIESTA  61 

"Then  I'm  certainly  coming  to  see  you,"  said 
Dick,  eagerly. 

"Me  or  my  pictures?"  asked  Mr.  Robles  with  a 
quizzical  smile. 

"Both,"  and  the  young  fellow  showed  he  meant 
it  by  a  cordial  hand  grip. 

"You  will  pass  our  door,  Mr.  Willoughby?" 
exclaimed  Merle  in  half-laughing  reproachfulness. 
"You  will  dare  to  give  the  go-by  to  La  Siesta?" 

"Well,  art  is  art,"  replied  Dick  sturdily,  al 
though  he  did  not  trust  himself  to  look  at  Merle 
while  he  answered. 

"But  perhaps  the  young  ladies  will  show  you 
the  way  through  the  oak  forest,"  suggested  Mr. 
Robles. 

"That  would  be  great,"  said  Lieutenant  Mun- 
son,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Grace  Darlington. 

"Delightful,"  she  blushingly  assented. 

"Well,  arrange  it  among  yourselves.  For  the 
present,  adios."  And  with  a  sweeping  bow  the 
senor  took  his  departure. 

A  stroll  through  the  gardens  and  orchards, 
dinner  and  sprightly  conversation,  an  hour  of 
piano-playing  and  singing  to  follow — altogether 
a  delightful  evening  was  spent.  The  nearly  full 
moon  had  risen  before  the  young  men  found 
themselves  on  the  homeward  trail. 


52         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

As  side  by  side  they  rode  down  into  the  valley, 
Munson  said: 

"Dick,  boy,  there's  no  use  talking.  You  have 
introduced  me  to  some  perfectly  charming  people 
today — they're  wonderful." 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  asked  Dick. 

"You  surely  did  not  tell  me  the  half,"  replied 
the  other.  "I  think  Grace  Darlington  is  the 
prettiest  girl  I  have  ever  seen." 

"Guess  you'll  be  writing  out  your  resignation 
and  sending  it  to  army  headquarters,"  laughed 
Dick.  "Quien  sabe?" 

The  lieutenant  made  no  reply,  and  quickening 
their  pace,  they  pushed  on  in  silence. 

At  last  they  were  nearing  home — passing  round 
the  last  spur  of  the  mountain.  The  moon  was 
now  riding  high  overhead,  bathing  the  whole 
landscape  in  bright  effulgence.  Willoughby 
brought  his  pony  to  a  walk,  and  Munson,  coming 
up  behind,  soon  joined  him. 

"How  do  you  like  riding  by  the  light  of  the 
California  moon?"  asked  Willoughby. 

"Really,  Dick,  you  call  even  the  moon  a  Cali 
fornia  moon,  as  if  the  same  moon  didn't  shine  in 
New  York  City  or  in  Paris." 

"Not  in  the  same  way,"  said  Dick  soberly. 
"The  truth  is,  the  moon  really  looks  larger  and 


AT  LA  SIESTA  53 

brighter  here,  and  the  stars,  too,  are  more  bril 
liant.  Haven't  you  noticed  it?" 

"I  have  noticed  that  the  atmosphere  is  exceed 
ingly  clear,"  replied  Munson,  and,  as  if  to  verify 
his  observation,  he  cast  a  glance  up  to  the  rock- 
ribbed  flank  of  the  mountain  above  the  belt  of 
timber. 

"Good  God,  what's  that?"  he  added  breathlessly 
grasping  the  arm  of  his  friend. 

Instinctively  both  halted  their  horses  as  they 
continued  to  gaze. 

The  bent  form  of  the  old  Indian  squaw  Guada- 
lupe  was  unmistakable  as  she  toiled  slowly  along 
a  narrow  ledge  on  the  face  of  the  precipice.  But 
following  close  behind  her  was  a  vague,  shadowy 
figure — the  figure  of  some  four-footed  beast,  bigger 
than  a  big  dog. 

"The  white  wolf!"  gasped  Dick. 

"Is  it  real,  or  is  it  a  spectre?"  whispered  Mun 
son. 

Just  then  a  scudding  cloud  momentarily  ob 
scured  the  moon,  and  when  the  full  light  again 
shone  forth,  both  woman  and  wolf  had  vanished. 

The  young  men  looked  into  each  other's  eyes 
in  awe  and  wonderment. 


CHAPTER  VI 
The  Quarrel 

THE  following  days  were  busy  ones  on  San 
Antonio  Rancho.  Dick  Willoughby  was 
constantly  in  the  saddle,  looking  after  his 
subordinates,  watching  the  line  fences,  and  gen 
erally  keeping  track  of  the  vast  herds.  Lieu 
tenant  Munson  was  becoming  acclimated.  He 
not  only  accompanied  Willoughby  on  many  of  his 
rides,  but  had  also  paid  several  visits  to  La  Siesta, 
and  one  afternoon  in  particular  had  enjoyed 
immensely  a  successful  trout  fishing  expedition 
with  the  young  ladies  along  the  mountain  stream 
that  flowed  through  the  property. 

One  morning  there  was  great  excitement  at 
San  Antonio  headquarters.  Ben  Thurston  re 
turned  from  a  visit  he  had  been  paying  to  Los 
Angeles,  and  with  him  floated  in  a  circumstantial 
story  that  the  rancho  had  been  really  sold.  As 
usual,  he  was  attended  by  the  plain-clothes  de 
tective  whom  he  retained  as  bodyguard.  Leach 
Sharkey  was  a  big,  hulking  fellow,  more  than  six 
feet  in  height,  with  a  tousled  shock  of  reddish 

(64) 


THE  QUARREL  55 

hair,  a  stubby  red  mustache,  and  teeth  that 
showed  even  when  his  face  was  in  repose.  Bulging 
hip  pockets  indicated  the  brace  of  heavy  re 
volvers  which  he  invariably  carried. 

Within  an  hour  of  Mr.  Thurston's  coming, 
Dick  Willoughby,  as  foreman,  was  summoned  tc 
an  interview  at  the  ranch  house.  The  ownei 
received  him  alone  in  his  office. 

Ben  Thurston  was  a  squat,  solidly  built  man, 
and  despite  his  life  of  idle  luxury,  carried  his  fifty 
odd  years  well.  He  was  sullen  and  taciturn  in 
manner,  but  brusque  and  imperious  when  he  did 
choose  to  speak.  Two  features  were  markedly 
characteristic — the  chin  was  weak  and  the  eyes 
had  the  restless,  alert  look  of  one  who  constantly 
lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  fear  and  suspicion. 

Thurston  opened  the  conversation  without 
any  preliminaries. 

"Willoughby,  I  want  an  accurate  count  of  all 
the  cattle  and  horses  on  the  ranch;  and  especially 
I  require  a  fair  idea  as  to  the  number  of  fatted 
beeves — those  ready  for  the  market,  you  under 
stand." 

"Very  well,"  replied  Dick,  "your  orders  shall  be 
carried  out  as  expeditiously  as  possible,  but  it 
will  require  a  few  days  to  complete  the  work." 

"How  many  days?" 


56         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"If  I  make  use  of  all  the  force  it  may  take  a 
week — perhaps  a  little  longer." 

"All  right,  use  all  the  help  you  can  get.  I  must 
have  these  figures  promptly.  There  is  a  Los 
Angeles  syndicate  who  are  after  an  option  on  the 
rancho.  They  are  counting  on  buying  me  out — 
lock,  stock  and  barrel."  Ben  Thurston  smiled, 
squinted  his  shifty  eyes  and  blew  his  nose  vigor 
ously. 

"It  always  makes  me  laugh,"  he  added  pom 
pously,  "to  have  these  fellows  come  around  this 
great  principality  of  mine  and  try  to  buy  me 
out." 

Just  then  someone  outside  flitted  past  the 
window,  and,  quick  as  lightning,  Thurston  turned 
and  exclaimed  in  a  startled  tone:  "Who  was 
that?" 

"That  was  Jack  Rover,"  replied  Dick,  "one  of 
our  cowboys." 

"Oh,"  and  the  frightened  look  in  the  eyes 
subsided. 

"Tomorrow  then,"  Dick  went  on,  returning  to 
their  former  topic  of  conversation,  "we'll  begin 
a  round-up  of  the  stock  at  this  end  of  the  range. 
I'll  put  the  boys  on  the  job  right  now." 

"I'll  join  you  tomorrow  myself." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Thurston." 


THE  QUARREL  57 

"What  time?" 

"At  any  time  agreeable  to  you." 

"Well,  say  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  You 
see,"  he  continued,  "I  want  to  get  through  with 
this  damned  business  in  a  hurry  and  start  back 
East.  I  have  friends  who  are  waiting  for  me. 
Of  course  I  will  have  to  stay  here  until  the  repre 
sentatives  of  this  syndicate  come  up  from  Los 
Angeles,  but  I  will  make  short  work  of  them, 
believe  me." 

This  time  Ben  Thurston  laughed  outright  and 
rubbed  his  hands  together  in  a  satisfied  way. 
For  once  he  seemed  inclined  to  be  communicative, 
and,  turning  to  Willoughby,  resumed: 

"Do  you  know,  I  have  collected  over  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  first  and  last,  selling 
options  on  this  San  Antonio  Rancho?  It  is  quite 
a  joke.  They  all  fall  down.  They  make  a  first 
payment  of  twenty-five  or  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
and  then,"  throwing  up  both  his  hands  and 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  "their  payments  cease 
and  I  am  just  that  much  ahead  of  the  game." 

Willoughby  listened  in  frigid  silence;  there  was 
not  even  the  flicker  of  a  responsive  smile  on  his 
face. 

Thurston,  eyeing  him  for  a  moment,  looked 
disconcerted.  He  drew  himself  up  stiffly  in  his 


58         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

chair.     His  voice  assumed  its  usual  gruff  tone. 

"That's  all;  get  to  work  then,"  he  said  curtly 
as  he  lifted  some  papers  to  show  that  the  inter 
view  was  at  an  end. 

The  first  round-up  was  held  some  twenty  miles 
southwest  of  the  ranch  house,  at  the  base  of  the 
foothills  across  the  valley  from  La  Siesta.  Ben 
Thurston,  attended  closely  by  his  bodyguard, 
was  there,  his  shifting  eyes  scanning  each  new 
face.  Not  fewer  than  ten  thousand  head  of 
cattle  were  milling  about,  pawing  the  earth  and 
bellowing  in  low  tones  of  irritation  at  being 
herded  together  and  held  away  from  their  ac 
customed  haunts  of  juicy  grasses. 

From  a  knoll  at  a  little  distance  Lieutenant 
Munson,  seated  on  a  fine  riding  pony,  watched 
the  great  performance,  which  to  him  was  more 
wonderful  than  any  hippodrome  show  or  military 
parade.  He  was  so  engrossed  with  the  spectacle 
that  he  did  not  hear  the  patter  of  approaching 
hoofs. 

"Good  morning,  Senor  Lieutenant,"  came  a 
lady's  voice  in  cheery  greeting. 

Turning  quickly  in  his  saddle  he  saw  Grace 
Darlington  and  Merle  Farnsworth  on  their  ponies, 
which  had  been  brought  to  a  sudden  halt  close 
behind  him. 


THE  QUARREL  59 

"Really,  Mr.  Munson,"  said  Grace  Darlington, 
"one  would  think  you  were  so  completely  lost  in 
contemplation  of  a  mob  of  cattle  that  you  had  no 
eyes  for  your  friends." 

Chester  bowed  and  raised  his  hat  as  he  replied 
with  a  bright  smile: 

"It  is  certainly  a  great  scene,  isn't  it?  But 
you  are  none  the  less  welcome.  Indeed  when  one 
is  witnessing  something  unusual,  it  always  adds 
to  the  interest  to  have  the  companionship  of 
friends.'* 

"Very  prettily  put,"  observed  Merle  Farns- 
worth.  "Fortunately  the  place  selected  for  the 
round-up  this  year  isn't  very  far  from  La  Siesta, 
so  we  rode  across  the  valley." 

"Have  you  anything  in  New  York,  "asked  Grace, 
"to  compare  with  this?" 

"Indeed  we  have  not,"  replied  the  lieutenant 
with  conviction.  "I  am  beginning  to  think  that 
the  West  is  a  pretty  good  place  in  which  to  live. 
By  the  way,"  he  went  on,  taking  a  newspaper 
clipping  from  his  pocket,  "here  is  something  that 
our  mutual  friend,  Dick,  gave  me,  and  said  I 
should  read  once  a  day  for  a  month,  and  then — 
well,  then,  he  says  I  will  never  go  East  again, 
but  remain  in  this  great  picture  country.  Shall 
I  read  it?" 


60         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Oh,  do,  by  all  means,"  said  the  girls  in  unison. 

"Well,  here  goes!  'Every  idea  we  have  in  the 
East  is  run  with  a  convention.  We  cannot 
think  without  a  chairman.  Our  whims  have 
secretaries;  our  fads  have  by-laws.  Literature 
is  a  club.  Philosophy  is  a  society.  Our  reforms 
are  mass  meetings.  We  cannot  mourn  our  mighty 
dead  without  some  great  chairman  and  a  half 
hundred  vice-presidents.  We  remember  our 
novelists  and  poets  with  trustees,  while  the  im 
mortality  of  a  dead  genius  is  looked  after  by  a 
standing  committee.  Charity  is  an  association, 
and  theology  at  best  only  a  set  of  resolutions/  ' 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  he  asked,  laugh 
ing.  "Isn't  that  an  awful  slam  on  the  East?" 

"It  is  rather  severe,"  smiled  Merle.  "But  you 
know,  Mr.  Willoughby  has  become  a  thorough 
Westerner.  The  lure  of  the  hills  and  the  valleys 
has  taken  complete  possession  of  him." 

"And  yet  he  remains  unspoiled."  exclaimed  the 
lieutenant.  "But  are  you  aware  he  is  trying  to 
tamper  with  my  old  allegiance  to  the  East?" 

"Indeed,"  asked  Grace,   "in  what  way?" 

"He  wants  me  to  resign  my  commission  and  take 
pot  luck  with  him,  as  he  terms  it." 

"You  couldn't  do  better,"  exclaimed  Grace 
enthusiastically . 


THE  QUARREL  61 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  an  ex 
citing  incident  was  taking  place  only  a  short 
distance  away.  Young  Marshall  Thurston  had 
come  with  his  father  to  the  round-up,  and  was 
riding  about  watching  the  operations.  Chancing 
to  pass  near,  Dick  Willoughby  overheard  him  use 
an  insulting  epithet  in  regard  to  Miss  Farnsworth 
— the  young  man  was  evidently  peeved  that  the 
ladies  had  not  sought  him  out  instead  of  Munson, 
and  it  was  obvious,  too,  that  he  had  been  drinking 
even  at  that  early  hour  in  the  morning. 

Swiftly  wheeling,  Dick  rode  up  to  him  with  a 
look  of  anger  so  intense  that  even  the  cowboys 
who  knew  him  were  taken  aback. 

"You  foul-mouthed  beast!"  he  hissed,  as  he 
pushed  his  quirt  into  the  slanderer's  face.  "Just 
let  me  overhear  you  make  a  rude  remark  again 
about  Miss  Farnsworth  and  I  will  hammer  the  life 
out  of  you.  You  are  nothing  better  than  a 
drunken  hobo,  not  fit  to  associate  with  ladies." 

The  outburst  was  so  sudden  that  young  Thurs 
ton  was  cowed  and  attempted  no  reply.  But 
as  Willoughby  rode  off  he  sent  after  him  a  look  of 
sullen  and  resentful  hatred.  Two  or  three  of  the 
cowboys,  who  really  were  good  friends  of  Dick 
Willoughby,  but  were  nevertheless  not  above 
fawning  for  the  favor  of  the  heir  to  the  great 


62         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

rancho,  indicated  that  they  were  on  Marshall's 
side. 

"Guess  two  can  play  at  the  hammering  game," 
remarked  one. 

"He  don't  come  any  of  his  rough-house  business 
over  you,  Marshall,  while  I'm  around,"  affirmed 
another,  pugnaciously. 

But  the  young  man,  still  without  uttering  a 
word,  turned  gloomily  away  and  started  his  pony 
in  the  direction  of  home. 

"Guess  he  feels  like  another  drink,"  grinned 
an  irreverent  youth. 

"Hell,"  exclaimed  an  elderly  man,  the  black 
smith  at  the  rancho,  "if  the  Thurston  family  don't 
beat  the  band  for  quarrels  and  bloody  feuds!" 

But  just  then  a  bunch  of  cattle  broke  from  the 
mam  herd  and  the  group  of  cowboys  dispersed  in 
a  galloping  scamper. 

Munson  and  the  young  ladies,  engrossed  in 
their  light  conversation,  knew  nothing  of  this 
unpleasant  episode.  They  were  now  discussing 
the  date  of  the  projected  visit  to  the  home  of  Mr. 
Ricardo  Robles  among  the  oaks  above  La  Siesta. 
It  was  decided  to  fix  it  for  the  first  Sunday  after 
the  cattle  muster  was  completed,  when  Dick 
Willoughby  would  be  free  to  make  one  of  the 
party. 


THE  QUARREL  63 

"But  hold  a  moment,"  exclaimed  the  lieutenant 
suddenly,  "unless  I'm  to  be  court-martialled  for 
absence  without  leave,  I  must  take  the  train  East 
next  Saturday,  or — or — " 

His  eyes  fixed  on  Grace,  he  hesitated  to  com 
plete  the  alternative. 

"Or  what?"  she  inquired. 

"Follow  Dick's  advice  and  send  in  my  resig 
nation."  As  he  spoke  he  thrust  a  hand  into  his 
breast  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  letter,  sealed, 
addressed  and  stamped,  all  ready  for  the  mail. 
"I  really  can't  quite  make  up  my  mind,"  he  added, 
dubiously. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  said  Grace  with  a  gay  smile 
as  she  extended  her  hand  for  the  letter. 

"How?"  he  asked. 

"I'll  mail  your  resignation  for  you.  We  shall 
be  riding  home  by  La  Siesta  postoffice." 

"Oh,  Grace!"  murmured  Merle  in  timid  protest. 
"Think  of  the  responsibility  you  are  taking." 

"A  woman's  mission  in  life  is  to  encourage  men 
to  do  the  proper  thing,"  replied  Grace  with 
roguish  defiance.  "Our  friend  here  is  enamored 
of  the  West,  and  the  West  is  the  very  best  place 
for  him.  I'll  post  your  letter,  lieutenant." 

He  placed  it  between  her  fingers,  doffed  his  hat, 
and  bowed  gallantly. 


64         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Be  it  so.  Let  the  gods — or  should  I  say,  a 
fair  goddess? — decide." 

"Thanks  for  the  compliment,"  cried  Grace, 
with  a  pretty  flush  on  her  face.  "Good-bye,  then, 
for  the  present.  Get  ready  for  Sunday's  picnic 
among  the  oaks.  Come  along,  Merle,  my  dear." 

And  with  a  touch  of  the  quirt  she  started  her 
pony  into  a  canter. 

"Great  guns,  but  she's  worth  while,"  exclaimed 
Munson  as  he  gazed  after  the  retreating  figures. 


CHAPTER  VII 
Old  Bandit  Days 

ON  the  evening  of  the  day  that  followed  the 
big  round-up  of  cattle,  Dick  Willoughby 
and   Chester  Munson  rode  over  to   the 
store.     As  they  cantered  along,  both  men  were 
pre-occupied  with  their  thoughts. 

Dick  was  not  worrying  over  his  sharp  passage 
of  words  with  his  employer's  son,  for  he  knew 
that  his  services  at  the  present  time  were  quite 
indispensable,  more  especially  if  the  rancho  was 
to  be  sold  to  the  best  advantage.  The  owner 
had  spoken  lightly  of  the  negotiations,  and  had 
chuckled  in  a  sinister  way  about  the  money  he 
had  frequently  made  over  unexercised  options. 
But  this  tune  it  was  a  Los  Angeles  syndicate 
that  was  seeking  the  property,  composed  of  men 
whose  financial  reputation  and  keen  business 
ability  Willoughby  knew  well.  For  he  had 
learned  their  names  after  his  interview  with  Ben 
Thurston,  and  he  felt  certain  that  this  particular 
group  of  capitalists  would  have  entered  into  no 
serious  negotiations  without  having  both  the 

(66) 


66        A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

cash  and  the  intention  to  put  the  deal  through. 
Therefore  he  scented  a  change  of  ownership  in 
the  rancho,  and  consequently,  perhaps,  the  neces 
sity  for  his  looking  around  to  find  employment 
elsewhere.  He  hated  to  think  of  leaving  a  place 
that  he  had  come  to  look  on  as  home  and  parting 
from  all  the  friends  he  had  made  throughout  the 
countryside.  Unconsciously  to  himself,  the  great 
est  tie  of  all  was  proximity  to  La  Siesta  and  to 
Merle  Farns worth.  But  Dick  was  not  thinking 
of  Merle  just  then — he  was  merely  turning 
things  over  generally  in  his  mind  as  he  rode  across 
the  valley. 

Munson  also  was  cogitating  the  change  in  his 
own  outlook  that  had  been  brought  about  by  the 
mailing  of  the  letter  of  resignation  to  army 
headquarters.  He  was  recalling  the  many  years 
he  had  striven  to  reach  the  lieutenancy  now  volun 
tarily  surrendered — of  his  youthful  zeal  and 
ambition  for  an  army  career  which  had  been 
powerless  to  withstand  the  witching  call  of  the 
West.  And  although  Grace  Darlington's  act 
of  putting  the  letter  in  the  post  had  been  only  the 
last  feather  to  tip  an  evenly  balanced  scale,  he 
could  not  but  feel  that  thereby  this  beautiful 
girl  of  the  "West  had  entered  into  his  life  and  into 
all  his  future  plans,  hopes,  and  aspirations.  The 


OLD  BANDIT  DAYS  67 

thought  gave  him  joy;  he  was  more  pleased  than 
ever  that  the  decisive  step  had  at  last  been  taken. 

Arriving  at  the  store,  they  found  old  Tom 
Baker  seated  on  a  dry  goods  box,  while  Buck 
Ashley  leaned  against  the  counter,  waiting  for 
the  stage  coach  and  the  mails.  Already  two  or 
three  others  were  beginning  to  congregate  under 
the  trees,  in  readiness  for  the  distribution  of  letters 
and  newspapers. 

"Hello,  Dick,"  called  out  the  sheriff,  "I  heard 
of  your  scrap  yesterday  morning  with  that 
young  ne'er-do-well,  Marshall  Thurston.  My 
God,  I'm  glad  you  gave  him  hell." 

"Please  don't  speak  about  it,"  replied  Wil- 
loughby  quietly.  "That  was  my  affair  and  mine 
alone.  I  guess  we  can  find  some  more  agreeable 
topic." 

"Wai,"  drawled  Buck  Ashley,  "Tom  here  was 
just  a-tellin'  me  a  yarn  that'll  interest  both  you 
boys  a  heap,  or  the  lieutenant  at  all  events,  for 
he's  new  to  these  parts  and  don't  know  the  local 
hist'ry  yet.  Of  course  I've  heard  the  story  before, 
but  not  all  the  pertic'lars  the  way  Tom  can  tell 
'em.  And  its  a  dangnation  good  story.  So  start 
from  the  beginnin'  again,  Tom." 

Thus  addressed,  the  sheriff,  after  taking  a  bite 
from  his  tobacco  plug,  began: 


68         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"The  yarn  has  to  do  with  the  old-time  bandit 
Joaquin  Murietta,  about  whom  we  were  speakin* 
the  other  mornin'.  Well,  the  way  it  all  hap 
pened  was  this:  On  a  neighboring  ranch,  over 
Ventura  way,  beyond  the  Lagunita  Rancho, 
owned  at  that  time  by  Senor  Olivas,  a  rich 
cattle  dealer  comes  down  from  'Frisco  to  buy 
a  bunch  of  beeves.  The  stock  had  all  been 
driven  up  on  a  mesa  near  the  Olivas  ranch  house, 
and  for  several  days  the  herders  had  been 
cuttin'  out  the  cows  and  the  young  calves  from 
the  steers,  'cause  this  feller  was  only  goin'  to 
buy  the  steers. 

"The  great  herd  was  bellerin'  and  pa  win'  in  a 
big  cloud  of  dust,  through  which  the  vaqueros — 
cowboys,  you  know,  lieutenant — could  be  seen 
ridin'  round  and  round.  Of  course  roundin'  up 
cattle  is  always  more  or  less  excitin'  work,  but 
this  rich  chap  had  come  down  from  'Frisco  with 
his  saddle  bags  bulgin'  out  with  gold,  and  this 
sorta  added  a  mighty  sight  to  the  interest  of  the 
doin's.  Part  of  the  bargain  was  that  the  deal  was 
to  be  for  spot  cash,  all  in  gold,  too,  mind  you, 
and  it  was  arranged  that  the  buyer  and  Senor 
Olivas  were  to  take  their  stations  at  one  side  of 
the  narrow  gate,  and  every  time  a  steer  was 
driven  through  that  gate  a  twenty-dollar  gold 


OLD  BANDIT  DAYS  69 

piece  was  to  be  tossed  into  a  big  bag  which  Senor 
Olivas  was  holdin'. 

"They  do  say  as  how  the  work  continued  all 
day,  from  early  mornin'  until  dark,  afore  the  last 
blamed  steer  passed  that  'ere  gate,  and  they  claim 
that  there  was  eighty  thousand  dollars  in  the 
Senor's  bag  as  pay  for  the  day's  drive.  They 
say,  too,  that  Joaquin  Murietta,  disguised,  was 
one  of  the  vaqueros  doin'  the  drivin'.  Anyway 
that  very  night  old  Olivas  was  waked  up  mighty 
abruptly  by  feelin'  the  cold  nose  of  a  revolver 
shoved  against  his  own  nose. 

"Well,  the  long  and  short  of  it  all  was  that 
Senor  Olivas  and  his  wife  were  both  gagged  and 
bound  hand  and  foot,  while  Murietta  ransacked 
the  house,  found  the  strong  box  and  carried  away 
every  blamed  gold  coin  that  Olivas  had  received 
for  the  sale  of  his  steers.  The  outlaw  succeeded 
in  makin'  his  escape  into  the  Tehachapi  moun 
tains  with  his  cut-throat  gang,  and  they  found  a 
hidin'  place  in  the  robbers*  cave  that  is  somewhere 
hereabouts  on  the  San  Antonio  Rancho.  It  sure 
was  as  slick  a  piece  of  rascality  as  was  ever  pulled 
off  in  the  old  lawless  days." 

"Well,"  observed  Buck  Ashley,  as  he  shook  his 
head  reflectively,  "I'm  assoomin'  some  of  the 
cowboy  fellers  around  here  will  find  that  cave  one 


70        A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

of  these  days.  I've  put  in  a  good  many  Sundays 
huntin'  for  it  myself." 

Just  then  there  was  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs 
outside,  and  a  moment  later  Jack  Rover  strolled 
into  the  store.  Over  his  shoulder  was  slung  the 
big  leather  bag  for  the  rancho  mails. 

"Hallo,  everybody,"  was  his  greeting.  "I'm 
ahead  of  time  Buck,  but  the  stage  will  be  here  in 
five  minutes.  I  saw  its  dust  above  the  ridge. 
I  hear,  lieutenant,"  he  went  on,  "you're  going  to 
stick  to  the  West  and  be  one  of  us." 

"Quit  the  army?"  exclaimed  Tom  Baker  in 
surprise. 

"That  is  so,"  replied  Munson.  "California  has 
fairly  got  hold  of  me,  and  I  intend  to  make  my 
home  in  the  West." 

"Then  you  just  stick  here,  young  man,"  said 
the  sheriff,  rising  to  his  feet  and  extending  his 
hand.  "California  is  the  pick  of  the  States,  and 
our  valley  the  pick  of  California.  Don't  you  for 
get  it.  We're  proud  to  welcome  you  as  a  new 
resident." 

"That's  what  I  say,  too,"  concurred  Buck 
Ashley,  cordially. 

Munson  smiled.  "Well,  I  don't  know  if  you 
can  put  me  in  the  resident  class  all  at  once,"  he 
observed,  diffidently.  "Guess  I've  got  to  join 


OLD  BANDIT  DAYS  71 

the  cowboy  brigade  first,  if  Dick  and  Jack  here 
will  break  me  in." 

"Sure  thing,"  assented  Jack  Rover.  "You're 
a  good  rider  now — for  an  army  man." 

"An  ex-army  man,"  corrected  Willoughby, 
laughing. 

"It  strikes  me  we  should  put  you  in  as  post 
master,  Munson,"  suggested  the  sheriff,  a  sly 
gleam  of  mischief  in  his  eye.  "Buck  Ashley  here 
is  growin'  old." 

"Yes,  but  not  too  old  to  hold  down  his  job  till 
your  tombstone's  in  the  cemetery,  Tom  Baker," 
retorted  the  storekeeper,  with  a  grin.  "No  man 
takes  the  Tejon  postmastership  while  I'm  alive," 
he  added  defiantly. 

"I'm  forewarned  and  won't  apply  for  your  job, 
Buck,"  laughed  Munson.  "But  here  comes  the 
stage,  so  show  your  spryness,  old  fellow,  by  getting 
us  our  mail." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
A  Letter  from  San  Quentin 

BUCK  ASHLEY  had  retired  into  the  parti- 
tioned-off  section  of  the  store  that  formed 
the  postoffice,  and  was  busy  stamping  and 
sorting  out  the  mail.  The  scattered  loiterers  out 
side  crowded  into  the  building  expectantly,  and 
the  local  parliament  was  in  session.  Amid  the 
buzz  of  conversation  Willoughby  could  not  but 
hear  his  own  name  mentioned,  coupled  with  that 
of  Marshall  Thurston.  He  understood  quite 
well  that  all  manner  of  gossip  was  flying  around 
in  regard  to  the  quarrel  at  the  round-up.  But 
he  remained  stoically  indifferent,  shut  his  ears, 
and  leaning  against  the  counter  busied  himself 
with  an  old  Saturday  Evening  Post  that  had  been 
lying  there. 

At  last  the  wicket  was  shoved  up  with  a  bang, 
and  those  present  began  to  move  toward  the  little 
aperture  through  which  Buck  Ashley  proceeded 
to  hand  out  correspondence  and  newspapers. 
One  by  one  the  throng  melted  away.  Jack  Rover 
was  examining  the  big  bunch  of  mail  for  San 

(72, 


A  LETTER  FROM  SAN  QUENTIN     73 

Antonio  Rancho  as  lie  stowed  it  into  the  letter 
bag.  Munson  was  opening  and  gleaning  the  con 
tents  of  two  or  three  letters  that  had  come  to  him 
from  New  York.  Dick  Willoughby  continued 
his  reading,  unconcerned;  Jack  would  pass  over 
any  correspondence  for  him.  Old  Tom  Baker 
had  not  risen  from  his  accustomed  seat  on  an  empty 
box;  he  had  few  correspondents,  and  the  mail 
did  not  worry  him,  although  he  invariably  assisted 
with  his  presence  at  its  distribution. 

These  four  were  now  the  only  ones  in  the  store 
besides  Buck  Ashley,  who  still  remained  behind 
the  partition.  At  last  the  postmaster  appeared, 
holding  in  his  hand  an  open  letter.  His  face 
showed  great  agitation  as  he  glanced  around  to 
take  stock  of  those  who  might  be  present. 

"Say,  boys,"  he  whispered  in  a  mysterious 
manner,  as  he  held  up  the  letter,  "this  is  the  most 
dangnation  extr'ornery  thing  that  has  ever  hap 
pened  to  me.  You're  just  the  bunch  of  fellers 
I'd  like  to  consult.  Close  the  door,  Tom." 

"What's  up,  Buck?"  asked  the  sheriff  as  he 
rose  to  comply.  "You  look  as  if  you  had  the 
ague  shakes." 

"No  ague  in  this  here  land  of  California," 
laughed  Jack  Rover.  "Is  it  a  proposal  of  mar 
riage  you've  been  getting,  Buck?" 


74         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

>  "A  derned  heap  better'n  that.  God  'Imighty, 
boys,  this  may  mean  millions  for  all  of  us.  Shoot 
the  bolt,  Tom;  I'll  hand  out  no  more  groceries 
tonight.  Come  close  together,  all  of  you.  You 
read  the  letter  aloud,  Dick.  My  hand's  a-tremb- 
lin',  and  I  can't  get  the  Frenchie's  lingo  just 
right." 

"The  Frenchie?"  echoed  Tom  Baker  in  puzzled 
surprise. 

"It's  a  letter  from  Pierre  Luzon,"  explained 
Buck. 

,  "Good  God!"  The  sheriff  was  now  as  deeply 
stirred  as  his  old  crony. 

4tThe  bandit  scout  you  were  telling  us  about 
the  other  morning?"  exclaimed  Jack  Rover,  also 
fired  with  excitement. 

"I  thought  that  fellow  was  in  San  Quentin  for 
life."  remarked  Munson,  composedly. 

"Wai,  and  ain't  this  letter  from  San  Quentin?" 
retorted  Buck.  "See  the  headin'!  But  Dick'll 
read  it  aloud.  I  feel  clean  knocked  out."  And 
the  old  man  sank  back  on  his  chair  behind  the 
counter. 

The  four  others  were  now  clustered  around 
Dick  Willoughby.  The  latter,  deputized  to  do 
the  reading,  had  nonchalantly  taken  the  epistle 
from  Buck  Ashley's  trembling  hand.  While  the 


A  LETTER  FROM  SAN  QUENTIN     75 

others  were  speaking  he  had  bestowed  a  prelim 
inary  glance,  and  from  his  lips  there  escaped  a 
murmur  of  surprise. 

"Great  Caesar!"  As  he  uttered  the  ejacula 
tion  Dick  sat  up,  keenly  alert. 

"Well,  what's  it  all  about?"  inquired  Munson, 
by  this  time  the  only  cool  man  in  the  bunch. 

"Read,  read!"  cried  the  storekeeper  hoarsely. 

Dick  Willoughby  began: 

"Mr.  Buck  Ashley,  Storekeeper, 
Tejon,  California. 

"If  God  in  His  goodness  permits  this  letter  to  come  to  your 
hands,  remember  it  is  from  old  Pierre,  the  Frenchman,  who 
used  to  be  about  your  store  sometimes  a  half  a  day  at  a  time, 
smoking  his  pipe.  You  never  knew  much  about  me  or  where 
I  lived.  But  I  will  tell  you. 

"I  am  an  old  man  now — very  old.  I  was  born  in  the 
South  of  France,  came  to  this  country  in  the  '40's  and  entered 
into  the  service  of  Joaquin  Murietta,  who  was  one  great  man, 
but  a  big  bandit.  Peace  to  his  soul!  Well,  he  was  good  to 
me,  and  I  was  faithful  to  him,  taking  care  of  the  cave,  the 
big  grotto,  the  cavern  among  the  Tehachapi  mountains 
where  he  many  times  hid  from  the  sheriff's  pcsse,  and  also, 
where  he  brought  all  his  gold  to  stack  up  and  keep  from 
everybody. 

"You  also  know  Don  Manuel,  him  whom  the  people  call 
White  Wolf.  Well,  once  when  a  boy,  Don  Manuel  he  save 
Murietta's  life  from  the  sheriff  by  helping  him  to  escape 
from  one  close  place.  Murietta  was  very  grateful,  and  one 
day  he  bring  the  boy  to  the  grotto  cave,  and  there  I  see  him 
and  like  him  very  much.  That  was  while  Murietta  still  lived. 

"Afterward  when  the  little  boy  grow  up  and  was  one  man, 
and  turned  bitter  against  the  gringos  because  they  wrong 


76        A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

his  sister,  Senorita  Rosetta,  and  his  old  father  and  mother 
die  of  grief,  he  say  to  me,  'I  will  become  a  bandit  like  Joaquin 
Murietta.'  He  came  to  the  cavern  one  night  and  tell  me  and 
say,  'You  be  my  servant.'  So  I  say,  'All  right,'  because 
Don  Manuel  one  brave  man. 

"So  that  night  of  the  great  stage  robbery  over  near  Lake 
of  Tulare,  I  hold  horses.  That's  all  I  do,  but  all  the  same 
they  put  me  in  this  horrid  prison,  and  here  I  am.  The  other 
two  men,  Felix  Vasquez  and  Fox  Cassidy,  were  shot  by  the 
posse  and  I  have  been  told  by  a  Portugee  in  the  jail  here 
about  the  White  Wolf  being  killed  away  north  in  Seattle, 
and  he  is  no  more. 

"Don  Manuel  de  Valencia,  he  was  one  great  man.  Peace 
to  his  soul! 

"I  am  alone.  I  want  to  get  away  from  this  terrible  prison. 
I  have  promised  one  of  my  guards — a  good  Frenchman  who 
comes  from  my  town  in  France — $5,000  in  gold  if  he  can 
secretly  get  this  letter  into  postoffice  to  you  and  get  me  away 
from  this  living  hell.  You  do  this  and  I  show  you  the  cavern. 
Nobody  knows  where  it  is  but  me. 

"Come  and  get  me,  please,  my  good  Mr.  Ashley,  come, 
and  may  the  spirit  of  the  Virgin  Mary  reward  you.  All  I 
say  here  is  truth.  You  come  get  me  and  I  show  you  the 
secret  grotto.  I  show  you  the  great  stacks  of  gold  hidden 
by  Joaquin  Murietta  and  Don  Manuel.  Also  the  sand-bar 
in  the  hidden  stream  where  Guadalupe  gathered  up  much 
gold. 

"I  beg  and  pray  you  to  keep  what  I  say  in  this  letter 
secret.  I  am  old  and  weak  and  sick.  Come  and  get  me. 

"Obedient  servant, 

"PlEHRE  LUZON." 

"Ain't  that  just  one  hell  of  a  letter,  boys?" 
exclaimed  Buck  Ashley. 

"Gospel  truth,  every  word,"  cried  Tom  Baker, 
emphatically. 


A  LETTER  FROM  SAN  QUENTIN     77 

y*'It  certainly  reads  like  the  truth,"  concurred 
Munson. 

"Then  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it?"  asked 
Jack  Rover. 

Dick  Willoughby  spoke  now  with  the  quiet 
and  quick  decision  that  marks  the  leader  of 
men: 

"What  we  will  do  is  this.  We  five  are  partners 
in  this  secret,  and,  if  Buck  is  willing,  we'll  play 
the  game  together  for  all  it  is  worth.  To  begin 
with,  we'll  put  up  one  hundred  dollars  apiece  to 
send  Tom  Baker  to  Sacramento.  He  will  try  to 
get  a  pardon  or  a  parole  for  Pierre  Luzon." 

"That  can  be  managed,"  assented  the  sheriff. 
"I've  got  a  political  pull,  you  know,  boys." 

"Well,"  continued  Dick,  "we'll  bring  old  Pierre 
here  and  we'll  get  from  him  the  information  he 
promises  about  the  secret  grotto." 

"Not  forgetting  Guadalupe's  placer  mine," 
interjected  Jack  Rover. 

"Everything  will  be  attended  to  in  its  turn," 
replied  Dick.  "One  thing  at  a  time,  and  the  first 
thing  to  be  done  is  to  get  the  Frenchman  out  of 
San  Quentin.  When  can  you  start,  Tom?" 

"The  day  after  tomorrow." 

"Well,  we'll  have  the  cash  ready  for  you  by 
tomorrow  night.  You  must  bring  Pierre  Luzon 


78         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

here  without  anyone  else  besides  ourselves  know 
ing  his  name  or  getting  next  to  him." 

"I'll  fix  up  a  cot  for  him  in  my  own  room  be 
hind  the  store,"  suggested  Buck  Ashley. 

"That's  a  good  plan,"  assented  Dick.  *4When 
the  Frenchman's  here,  it  will  be  time  then  to  dis 
cuss  our  next  move.  Meanwhile,  it's  an  honorable 
promise  of  secrecy  all  round,  and  to  begin  with  I 
give  my  word." 

While  speaking  the  last  words,  Dick  solemnly 
raised  his  hand,  and  each  man  in  turn  followed 
his  example  as  he  gave  the  pledge  required. 


CHAPTER  IX 
Tia  Teresa 

TEN  days  had  passed  and  the  count  of  the 
stock  on  San  Antonio  Rancho  had  been 
completed,  every  canyon  searched,  the 
last  wandering  maverick  roped  and  branded,  the 
number  of  fat  beeves  accurately  estimated.  Three 
members  of  the  Los  Angeles  syndicate  had  arrived 
in  a  big  automobile  and  remained  over  night  at 
the  ranch  house.  Most  of  the  time  they  had  been 
closeted  with  Ben  Thurston  in  his  office,  and  had 
finally  taken  their  departure  without  exchanging 
a  word  with  anyone  else  on  the  rancho.  Nobody 
knew  whether  the  deal  had  gone  through  or  not, 
but  rumor  said  that,  after  some  disagreement  on 
the  first  day,  terms  had  been  arranged  next 
morning. 

Dick  Willoughby,  although  he  discussed  the 
question  with  no  one,  made  his  own  inferences. 
The  very  fact  that  the  visitors  had  not  made  any 
inspection  of  the  property  proved  that  they 
already  knew  it  thoroughly  well.  The  counting 
of  the  cattle  and  horses  had  been  the  final  factor 

(79) 


80        A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

in  the  negotiations,  and  the  figures  had  enabled 
the  deal  to  advance  a  further  stage  toward  com 
pletion.  Ben  Thurston  might  fool  himself  about 
easy  option  money  put  up  only  to  be  forfeited, 
but  Dick  Willoughby  was  not  fooled.  The  days 
of  closer  settlement  in  California  had  come,  and 
these  Los  Angeles  men  were  the  most  enterprising 
and  skilful  subdividers  in  the  West.  They  dealt 
only  in  big  propositions,  and  after  mopping  up 
all  the  available  tracts  in  the  southern  end  of  the 
State,  were  extending  their  operations  northward. 
This  vast  so-called  "Spanish  grant,"  an  empire 
in  itself,  had  no  doubt  for  several  years  been  in 
their  eye,  and  now  they  were  prepared  to  handle 
the  San  Antonio  Rancho  with  the  lavish  ex 
penditure  it  deserved  and  required  to  transform 
the  great  sweep  of  cattle  range — rich  agricultural 
land,  as  the  luxuriant  native  grasses  showed — 
into  smiling  orchards  and  alfalfa  farms,  each 
provided  with  the  irrigation  water  which  intelligent 
conservation  would  ensure  in  abundance. 

Dick  knew  in  his  heart  that  the  era  of  trans 
formation  had  at  last  come,  that  the  roaming 
herds  were  to  be  pushed  back  into  regions  more 
remote,  that  homes  and  schoolhouses  and  garden 
cities  would  soon  be  dotting  the  landscape,  that 
the  passing  of  Ben  Thurston,  the  cattle  king,  and 


TIA  TERESA  81 

of  his  hard-riding,  devil-may-care  vaqueros  was 
at  hand. 

Yet  Thurston  spoke  no  word — in  fact,  he 
seemed  to  be  more  grouchy  and  taciturn  than  ever. 
Not  even  his  son  Marshall  was  in  his  confidence, 
for  the  young  man  was  seldom  with  his  father,  pre 
ferring  to  spend  his  time  in  the  drinking  saloons 
and  dance  halls  of  Bakersfield,  where  the  activity 
of  oil-developing  operations  attracted  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men,  among  whom  the  dissipated 
decadent  ha^l  readily  found  friends  to  his  liking. 

Ben  Thurston  who  had  gone  the  pace  himself 
in  his  early  days,  did  not  seek  to  interfere  with 
his  son's  pursuit  of  pleasures,  but  he  had  very 
promptly  squelched  any  interference  from  Marshall 
with  his  own  business  operations.  On  the  evening 
of  the  quarrel  with  Dick  Willoughby  at  the 
round-up,  Marshall  had  attempted  to  tell  his 
father  about  the  affair  and  suggest  Dick's  dis 
missal.  But  the  old  man  had  at  once  silenced 
him  by  saying:  "Why,  damn  you!  I  brought 
you  out  to  this  country  to  enjoy  yourself  and  not 
to  get  into  trouble.  So  far  as  Willoughby  is  con 
cerned,  I  can't  afford  to  quarrel  with  him.  He 
is  my  foreman,  and  I  am  right  in  the  midst  of  a 
big  business  transaction.  So  just  you  mind  your 
own  business,  my  boy,  and  leave  him  alone." 


82         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Accordingly,  Marshall  Thurston,  a  coward  at 
heart,  had  not  sought  to  pursue  the  feud  single- 
handed,  and  Dick  had  seen  but  little  of  him  during 
the  rest  of  the  mustering  work.  When  they  did 
happen  to  meet,  it  was  a  case  of  a  black  scowl  of 
hate  from  the  one  and  a  contemptuous  smile  of 
indifference  from  the  other.  And  so  the  days 
had  passed  until  the  task  was  finished. 

It  was  the  Sunday  morning  that  had  been  fixed 
for  the  visit  to  the  home  of  Mr.  Ricardo  Robles, 
when  the  cattle  foreman  could  at  last  conscienti 
ously  take  a  day  of  recreation.  With  the  first 
break  of  dawn  he  and  Munson  were  in  the  saddle, 
for  they  had  been  invited  to  breakfast  at  La 
Siesta  before  starting  with  the  young  ladies  on 
the  ride  through  the  oak  forest. 

The  visitors  arrived  early,  but  not  too  early  for 
their  hostesses.  Grace  and  Merle  were  waiting 
to  welcome  them  in  the  portico,  looking  more 
charming  than  ever  in  their  neat  riding  suits  of 
khaki. 

"We  saw  you  cross  the  bridge,"  declared  Grace, 
"and  mother  has  gone  in  to  order  breakfast  to  be 
served.  You  must  be  hungry  after  your  early 
start." 

"Oh,  Sing  Ling  didn't  let  us  go  without  a  cup 
of  coffee,"  laughed  Dick.  "But  I  fancy  we'll  do 


TIA  TERESA  83 

full  justice,  all  right,  to  the  bountiful  fare  of 
La  Siesta." 

It  proved  to  be  a  delightful  meal  in  every  way, 
the  viands  seasoned  with  gay  repartee  and  laugh 
ter.  A  full  hour  had  sped  before  Dick  recalled 
the  real  object  of  the  day's  excursion. 

"We  usually  walk  to  Mr.  Robles'  place,"  re 
marked  Merle.  "It  is  only  a  mile  or  so  by  the 
short  cuts  up  the  hill,  but  by  the  winding  road  it 
is  very  much  longer.  So  we  ordered  our  ponies." 

"I  see,"  smiled  Munson,  "to  prolong  the  pleas 
ure  of  our  foursome  among  the  oaks." 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  retorted  Grace.  "The  climb 
on  foot  is  a  stiff  one,  and  we  knew  that  you  must 
be  out  of  condition  from  the  lazy  life  you  are 
living." 

"I  am  only  waiting  for  Willoughby  to  give  me  a 
cowboy's  job,"  replied  the  ex-lieutenant. 

"I  don't  know  if  there  will  be  any  cowboy  jobs 
going,"  observed  Willoughby.  "It's  my  belief 
that  San  Antonio  Rancho  is  sold  and  is  going  to 
be  broken  up  into  small  holdings." 

*X3h,  what  a  pity!"  exclaimed  Merle. 

"From  one  point  of  view,  perhaps,"  answered 
Dick.  "But  from  a  hundred  other  points  of  view, 
what  a  blessing!  There  will  be  a  dozen  happy 
homes  for  every  steer  the  range  now  feeds!" 


84         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"But  La  Siesta  will  remain  just  as  it  is,**  cried 
Grace. 

"That  will  be  all  right,"  replied  Dick,  gallantly, 
"It's  already  a  happy  home.** 

The  ladies  smiled  pleasantly. 

4 Then  this  will  mean  the  elimination  of  Mr. 
Ben  Thurston,"  observed  Mrs.  Darlington. 

4tThe  greatest  blessing  of  all,*'  declared  Merle, 
clapping  her  hands.  "You  see,  I  am  already 
converted  to  the  change,  Mr.  Willoughby,"  she 
added  merrily. 

"But  what  about  my  job?"  asked  Munson  in 
mock  dolefulness. 

"Consult  Mr.  Robles,"  laughed  Grace.  "He 
may  take  pity  on  you,  and  find  you  a  place  as 
handy  man  on  his  estate." 

In  merry  mood  they  all  sallied  forth.  The 
saddle  horses  were  waiting,  and  standing  beside 
them  was  an  elderly  Spanish  woman. 

"Tia  Teresa,  Mr.  Munson,"  said  Mrs.  Darling 
ton  by  way  of  introduction. 

Munson  had  often  enough  heard  the  name, 
and  in  answer  to  an  inquiry,  Willoughby  had  told 
huii  that  the  old  dame  had  been  the  personal 
attendant  of  the  two  young  ladies  ever  since  they 
could  remember.  Tia  or  Aunt  Teresa  was  now 
more  a  friend  of  the  family  than  a  servant  of  the 


TIA  TERESA  85 

house,  and,  taking  her  hand  in  salutation,  Munson 
treated  her  with  the  affable  courtesy  that  was 
her  due. 

"I  am  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,"  he 
said,  raising  his  hat. 

Tia  Teresa  looked  pleased.  Despite  her  seventy 
years,  she  was  a  buxom  and  splendidly  preserved 
woman,  and  there  was  still  the  flash  of  youthful- 
ness  in  her  big  dark  eyes. 

"You  will  look  after  my  little  girls,"  she  said, 
as  she  gathered  together  the  folds  of  her  black 
lace  mantilla.  "By  rights  I  should  be  coming 
with  you,  too,"  she  added,  in  the  manner  of  a 
true  Spanish  duenna. 

"You  forget  that  we  are  home  again— in  free 
America,"  laughed  Merle  as  she  settled  herself 
in  the  saddle. 

"Too  free,  I  sometimes  think,"  rejoined  Tia 
Teresa.  "But  there  is  safety  in  four,"  she  added* 
turning  with  a  smile  to  Mrs.  Darlington. 

And  as  the  young  folks  rode  away  she  waved 
them  a  pleasant  adios. 


CHAPTER  X 
The  Home  of  the  Recluse 

A'  a  gentle  pace  they  wound  their  way 
through  the  forest  of  magnificent  old  oaks. 
As  for  Munson,  riding  by  Grace  Darling 
ton's  side,  the  miles  were  the  shortest  he  had  ever 
before  traversed.  It  seemed  only  a  few  minutes 
before  the  red  tiled  roof  and  towers  of  a  house 
built  in  the  California  Mission  style  were  gleam 
ing  through  the  trees  only  a  short  distance 
ahead. 

Great  oaken  doors  closed  the  arched  gateway, 
but  at  the  clatter  of  hoofs  and  the  sound  of  voices, 
a  little  peep-hole  wicket  was  withdrawn.  The 
inspection  by  unseen  eyes  apparently  was  satis 
factory,  for  a  moment  later  a  postern  was  opened, 
and  two  men,  Mexicans  obviously  by  their  garb 
and  deferential  manner,  emerged  to  take  and 
lead  away  the  horses.  Within  the  patio  stood 
Senor  Robles,  his  usually  grave  face  lighted  by  a 
smile  of  cordial  welcome. 

"Let  me  tell  you,  young  men,"  he  said  while 
shaking  hands,  "that  while  Grace  and  Merle  are 

(86) 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  RECLUSE        87 

quite  at  home  here,  you  are  the  very  first  strangers 
who  have  passed  through  my  portals." 

"Strangers  no  longer  then,"  said  Dick,  good- 
naturedly. 

"Precisely,"  replied  Mr.  Robles,  "or  you  would 
not  be  here.  But  I  foresee  that  all  of  us  are  going 
to  be  very  close  friends.  Isn't  that  so,  Grace,  my 
dear?" 

'T'm  sure  I  cannot  say,"  replied  Grace,  with  a 
smile  of  demure  innocence  toward  Mr.  Munson. 
Then  she  turned  to  Mr.  Robles  with  a  roguish 
twinkle  in  her  eye.  "But  I've  news  for  you.  Mr. 
Munson  has  resigned  from  the  army  and  is  looking 
for  a  job." 

"Both  facts  are  already  known  to  me,"  an 
swered  Robles,  smiling. 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Grace,  "one  can  never  sur 
prise  you,  Mr.  Robles.  Although  you  live  the 
life  of  a  hermit,  you  seem  to  be  always  the  first 
to  learn  everything  that  is  going  on." 

"A  hermit,  my  dear,  need  not  necessarily  be 
out  of  touch  with  the  world,"  replied  Robles, 
playfully  pinching  her  ear.  "And  now,  Mr. 
Willoughby,  you  came  specially  to  see  my  pictures. 
Lead  the  way,  Merle.  Gentlemen,  I  say  again — 
welcome  to  my  mountain  home." 

They  lingered  awhile  in  the  patio  to  admire  the 


88         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

marble  columns  of  the  cloister  that  ran  all  around, 
the  playing  fountains  at  each  of  the  four  corners, 
with  groups  of  symbolical  statuary,  the  wealth 
of  beautiful  shrubs  and  flowers.  On  the  side 
opposite  to  the  gateway  rose  a  tall  tower,  fashioned 
like  the  campanile  of  an  Old  Mission  and  crowned 
with  bright  red  tiles. 

"We  shall  ascend  there  later  on,"  remarked 
Mr.  Robles,  following  Dick's  upward  glance. 

Then  they  passed  through  the  wide-opened 
French  window  into  the  living  rooms. 

The  first  was  a  great  apartment  that  occupied 
one  entire  side  of  the  building.  In  the  centre 
was  a  large  globe  of  the  world.  Here  and  there 
were  glass  cases  displaying  manuscripts  and 
illuminated  missals.  Along  the  walls  were  finely- 
carved  bookcases  filled  with  several  thousands 
of  volumes. 

"When  you  have  the  leisure  you  can  come  and 
browse  here,*'  said  the  host,  addressing  both 
young  men.  "Meanwhile  you  may  care  to  look 
at  the  bronzes  and  statuary" — this  with  a  sweep 
of  the  hand  that  indicated  the  art  treasures  dis 
tributed  about  the  apartment. 

On  the  side  of  the  house  beneath  the  tower 
were  the  dining  room  and  the  billiard  and  smoking 
room.  Passing  through  these,  the  visitors  came 


Guadalupe  and  the  White  Wolf— Page  53 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  RECLUSE        89 

to  the  picture  gallery,  a  room  corresponding  in 
size  to  the  library.  Here  were  hung  treasures 
of  the  painter's  art,  masterpieces  signed  by  names 
that  are  immortal.  These,  as  their  owner  again 
explained,  had  been  acquired  by  him  during 
several  prolonged  visits  to  Europe. 

"Count  this  just  as  a  preliminary  survey,  Mr. 
Willoughby,"  he  said  finally.  "Then  come  again. 
There  are  guest  chambers  on  either  side  of  the 
gateway,  and  one  of  these  will  always  be  at  your 
disposal  when  I  am  at  home.  I  extend  the  same 
invitation  to  you,  Mr.  Munson." 

"My  word,  but  you  may  feel  honored,"  ex 
claimed  Grace,  in  unconcealed  amazement. 

"When  I  open  my  gates,  I  open  my  heart  as 
well,"  said  Mr.  Robles,  with  a  courtly  little  bow 
to  his  new  friends. 

Next  they  ascended  the  tower.  Its  first  floor, 
above  the  living  rooms,  was  a  delightful  den 
filled  with  curios  of  all  kinds.  From  this  sprang 
a  winding  iron  staircase,  up  which  Mr.  Robles 
led  the  way. 

The  upper  chamber,  extending  on  all  sides  some 
distance  beyond  the  supporting  tower,  proved 
larger  than  might  have  been  expected.  Its  one 
conspicuous  article  of  furniture  was  a  great  terres 
trial  telescope.  The  sliding  panels  of  glass  which 


90         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

formed  a  complete  window  all  around  the  room 
showed  that  the  instrument  could  be  used  without 
obstruction  in  any  direction. 

Here  a  Mexican  boy  was  on  duty.  When  the 
visitors  entered,  his  hand  was  resting  on  the  tele 
scope.  A  bright  red  sash  around  his  waist  imparted 
a  touch  of  picturesqueness  to  his  costume.  He 
was  perhaps  only  twelve  or  thirteen  years  of  age, 
but  wonderfully  keen  and  alert-looking  for  his 
years.  At  a  glance  from  his  master,  the  youngster 
took  his  departure,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"Gentlemen,"  remarked  Mr.  Robles,  when 
they  were  again  alone,  "perhaps  before  I  brought 
you  here  I  should  have  exacted  the  promise  I 
am  now  going  to  ask  you  to  make.  Grace  and 
Merle  know  that  I  am  a  recluse  and  wish  to  live 
undisturbed  by  curiosity-mongers  or  tittle- tattlers. 
I  want  nobody  but  the  friends  I  deliberately  choose 
to  know  about  my  habits  of  living  or  the  contents 
of  my  home.  Only  in  this  way  can  I  hope  to  be 
left  alone.  Therefore,  please  give  me  your  word, 
Mr.  Willoughby  and  Lieutenant  Munson,  that 
you  will  not  speak  with  any  outsider  about  the 
things  I  am  showing  you  today." 

The  promise  was  instantly  given  and  sealed 
by  a  hearty  hand  clasp. 

"Now,"    resumed    the    host    in    lighter    tone, 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  RECLUSE       91 

"perhaps  you  would  like  to  view  the  landscape. 
I  may  explain  that  I  had  this  observatory,  as  I 
call  it,  specially  built  and  equipped  so  that  I 
could  sweep  the  valley  from  end  to  end.  For 
example,  I  saw  you  two  young  men  riding  along 
the  road  this  morning,"  he  went  on,  with  a  smile. 
"I  saw  one  of  you  alight,  about  twelve  miles  from 
here — it  was  you,  lieutenant — and  tighten  the 
girths  of  your  saddle." 

"Great  Scott!"  murmured  Munson,  in  half- 
incredulous  surprise. 

"Test  the  glass  for  yourself,"  continued  Robles, 
as,  placing  one  eye  at  the  lens,  he  adjusted  the 
instrument.  "Look" — and  he  stepped  back, 
motioning  Munson  to  approach. 

Munson  peeped  through  the  long  tube  and 
there  came  from  his  lips  a  cry  of  mingled  delight 
and  amazement. 

"Dick,  Dick,  there's  the  store  as  large  as  life — 
Buck  Ashley  standing  at  the  door  and  lighting  a 
cigar.  Geewhizz,  and  it  must  be  twenty  miles 
away." 

He  rose  erect  and  made  room  for  Dick.  The 
latter  gazed  in  silence  for  a  few  moments.  When 
he  turned  to  Mr.  Robles  he  said: 

"It's  really  wonderful — it  is  the  most  wonder 
ful  glass  I  ever  looked  through." 


92        A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

There  was  the  glimmer  of  an  exultant  smile 
on  the  face  of  Ricardo  Robles. 

"I  saw  you  at  the  round-up  across  the  valley 
the  other  day,"  he  remarked.  "You  were  much 
nearer  to  me  than  is  the  store.  And  while  I  do 
not  invite  any  confidence,  Mr.  Willoughby,  you 
certainly  engaged  in  a  very  spirited  conversation, 
to  say  the  least,  with  young  Marshall  Thurston. 
Indeed,  I  half  expected  to  see  you  come  to 
blows." 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Merle  in  some  trepi 
dation. 

Willoughby  had  reddened. 

"Nothing  of  consequence,"  he  responded,  al 
most  curtly.  "I  had  to  tell  the  young  cub  to 
mind  his  own  business.  That  was  all." 

"You  certainly  have  the  whole  valley  under 
observation,"  remarked  Munson,  considerately 
diverting  the  conversation. 

"Yes,"  assented  Mr.  Robles,  with  an  almost 
grim  smile  of  satisfaction.  "The  telescope  teaches 
one  not  merely  to  observe,  but  to  reason  from  the 
facts  observed.  Tia  Teresa  evidently  thought 
that  she  should  have  come  along  today  to  play 
duenna,  eh,  Merle?" 

"You  don't  say  you  guessed  that?"  exclaimed 
Merle  in  great  astonishment. 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  RECLUSE        93 

"Guessed  it!  I  knew  it  when  she  raised  her 
protesting  finger." 

"You  are  a  magician,  Mr.  Robles,"  cried  Grace. 

"No,  only  a  logician,"  was  the  sententious 
rejoinder. 

"Please  let  me  peep  at  our  garden,"  asked 
Merle.  "I  wonder  if  mother  is  among  her  roses." 

Without  a  word  Robles  swung  round  the  instru 
ment  on  its  pivot  and  changed  the  focus. 

**That's  about  right,"  he  said,  stepping  back. 
"There  is  no  one  out  of  doors  at  present.  Move 
the  glass  slightly  and  you  can  see  over  the  entire 
garden." 

Each  girl  in  turn  made  a  prolonged  scrutiny; 
they  were  enchanted  with  the  clearness  and 
marvellous  detail  of  the  picture. 

"Henceforth  we'll  have  to  be  on  our  best  be 
havior,  Dick,"  laughed  Munson,  as  they  turned 
toward  the  winding  stairway.  "We've  got  to 
remember  Mr.  Robles  has  a  constant  eye  on  us." 

"Perhaps  I've  had  you  under  observation  quite 
a  while,"  laughed  the  senor,  tapping  the  young 
fellow  on  the  shoulder. 

Then  he  threw  open  the  door,  and,  with  a  slight 
bow  and  extended  hand,  motioned  to  his  visitors 
to  descend.  At  the  foot  of  the  narrow,  winding 
staircase  they  found  the  Mexican  youth  standing 


94         A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

on  guard.  He  bowed  low  as  the  ladies  passed,  and 
when  Mr.  Robles  followed  last  of  all,  saluted,  and 
then  immediately  returned  to  the  chamber  above, 
again  without  a  single  word  of  instruction  from 
his  master.  Munson  and  Willoughby  exchanged 
meaning  looks;  obviously  a  well-disciplined  out 
look  was  kept  from  the  observatory  all  the  time, 
as  if  from  the  conning- tower  of  a  battleship. 

Again  the  party  was  in  the  patio.  Mr.  Robles 
turned  to  Willoughby. 

"I  hope  Grace  and  Merle  have  explained  to 
you  that  at  present  I  do  not  entertain.  My  own 
fare  is  of  the  simplest." 

"Mother  is  to  have  luncheon  ready  at  one," 
interposed  Grace.  "I  caught  the  broiled  trout 
myself  this  morning." 

"You  caught  them  ready  broiled,  eh?"  laughed 
Munson. 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  rejoined  Grace, 
with  a  pretty  little  moue. 

"Broiled  trout!"  exclaimed  Dick,  apprecia 
tively.  "Then  I  think  we'll  be  hurrying  down  the 
hill,  senor."  He  had  recognized  with  intuitive 
courtesy  that  the  interview  was  at  an  end. 

"Is  he  not  delightful?"  asked  Merle,  as  their 
horses  started  off  at  a  walk.  "And  you  would 
never  guess  how  sweet  and  kind  he  can  be." 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  RECLUSE        95 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  assented  Willoughby.  "A 
polished  gentleman,  but  a  man  of  mystery,  isn't 
he?" 

"Not  when  you  come  to  know  him.  A  recluse 
always  has  his  little  idiosyncrasies."  As  she 
spoke,  she  set  her  pony  at  a  canter  down  the 
gentle  incline. 

After  luncheon,  Dick  found  himself  tete-a-t£te 
with  Mrs.  Darlington  in  the  music  room.  The 
mystery  attaching  to  the  personality  of  the 
recluse  was  still  uppermost  in  his  mind.  But  for 
the  present  the  music  claimed  his  attention. 

Merle  had  seated  herself  at  the  grand  piano 
and  was  softly  fingering  the  keys,  striking  a  chord 
here  and  there,  until  finally  she  drifted  into 
Chopin's  Fifth  Nocturne.  There  was  something 
almost  divine  in  her  interpretation.  The  music 
fairly  rippled  from  her  deft  fingers,  as  they  glided 
on  from  one  beautiful  cadence  to  another  until 
at  last,  note  by  note,  as  if  sobbing  a  reluctant 
adieu,  the  melody  died  away. 

Both  the  visitors  were  generous  in  their  tributes 
of  congratulation. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Merle,  as  she  arose  from  the 
piano  and  proceeded  to  unfasten  the  clasps  of  a 
violin  case. 

"What  now?"  exclaimed  Munson. 


96        A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Oh,  I  am  not  the  performer;  I  am  merely  the 
accompanist,"  and  she  held  out  a  beautiful  old 
violin  to  Grace.  As  Merle  sounded  a  key  on  the 
piano,  Grace  touched  the  strings  of  the  Stradi- 
varius.  When  all  was  ready  she  tenderly  caressed 
the  violin  with  her  chin,  and,  her  bow  sweeping 
across  the  instrument,  Beethoven's  Moonlight 
Sonata  trembled  from  the  strings,  in  soft  and 
plaintive  melody,  filling  the  room  with  echoing 
and  re-echoing  notes  of  sweetness,  while  Merle's 
accompanying  notes  lent  support,  in  blending 
harmony,  to  the  rich  cadences. 

"Splendid!  magnificent!"  exclaimed  the  young 
men  in  unison. 

Munson  was  now  called  upon  to  sing,  and  Dick 
felt  himself  at  full  liberty  to  converse  with  Mrs. 
Darlington.  He  broached  the  subject  that  had 
been  occupying  his  thoughts. 

"What  is  known  of  Senor  Ricardo  Robles?"  he 
enquired.  "Have  you  been  long  acquainted?" 

"Oh,  I  have  known  him  for  many,  many  years," 
replied  Mrs.  Darlington.  "We  used  to  be  next 
door  neighbors  in  Los  Angeles.  That  was  twenty 
years  ago.  Then  we  returned  to  England — Mr. 
Darlington  had  fallen  heir  to  the  family  estates. 
Mr.  Robles  used  to  visit  us  off  and  on.  He  is, 
as  you  have  seen,  very  fond  of  Grace" — she 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  RECLUSE        97 

paused  a  moment,  then  went  on — "and  of  my 
adopted  daughter  Merle  as  well.  Merle,  you 
know,  was  the  child  of  my  dearest  girl  friend  who 
died  a  year  after  her  baby  was  born." 

"Yes,  Merle  has  tcld  me  this." 

"Well,  six  years  ago  my  dear  husband  died, 
and  it  was  Mr.  Robles  who  persuaded  me  to  return 
to  California.  He  selected  this  beautiful  ranch 
for  us,  near  to  his  own  home.  And  we  have  all 
been  so  happy  here  at  La  Siesta." 

"Mr.  Robles  is  certainly  a  wonderful  man, 
with  all  those  art  treasures  around  him.'* 

"He  has  princely  tastes  and  princely  wealth  as 
well — this  you  will  have  seen  for  yourself  today. 
He  travels  a  great  deal  abroad,  sometimes  for  a 
whole  year  at  a  tune,  and  then  returns  quietly 
to  his  hermitage.  He  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to 
you,  Mr.  Willoughby.  You  are  lucky  in  gaining 
the  friendship  of  such  a  man." 

"I  think  I'll  like  him,  too — when  I  know  him 
better,'*  replied  Willoughby,  with  cautious  reserve. 


CHAPTER  XI 
A  Rejected  Suitor 

IN  Dick  Willoughby's  presence  Marshall  Thurs- 
ton  contented  himself  with  sullen  looks.     But 
beyond  his  sight  and  hearing  he  spoke  trucu 
lently  of  what  he  was  going  to  do  some  day  to  get 
level  with   "the  hired  hand   who  had  had  the 
infernal  insolence  to  call  him  down  in  public." 
So  all   the    little    world    on    the    rancho   knew, 
or  at  least  believed,  that  a  bitter  feud  was  in 
progress. 

Two  or  three  of  the  cowboys  fostered  young 
Marshall's  feelings  of  animosity,  partly  out  of 
sheer  devilment,  partly  because  they  deemed  it 
good  policy  to  keep  in  the  good  graces  of  the  heir 
to  the  rancho.  Moreover,  so  long  as  old  Ben 
Thurston  knew  nothing  about  it,  they  were  always 
willing  to  break  a  bottle  with  the  dissipated 
spendthrift,  not  only  because  good  liquor  was  not 
to  be  despised  at  any  time,  but  also  for  the  sake 
of  the  amusement  afforded  by  Marshall,  in  his 
cups,  with  his  stories  of  fast  life  in  New  York 
and  his  apparently  inexhaustible  fund  of  highly 

(98) 


A  REJECTED  SUITOR  99 

spiced  anecdotes.  Even  his  braggart  threats 
against  Willoughby  had  an  element  of  fun. 

"Why  don't  you  cut  him  out  with  the  girl?" 
one  of  his  boon  companions  had  suggested  on  an 
occasion  of  this  kind. 

"By  gad,  I  will,"  Marshall  had  responded  with 
vehemence.  "You  just  watch  me." 

Thenceforward  this  thought  was  uppermost  in 
bis  alcohol-sodden  brain. 

Marshall  Thurston  had  met  Mrs.  Darlington 
and  her  daughter  on  several  occasions,  but, 
although  he  had  been  formally  introduced,  he  had 
never  been  invited  to  call  at  La  Siesta.  Nor 
up  to  the  present  had  he  felt  any  inducement  to 
take  the  initiative.  Like  clings  to  like,  and  these 
people  were  not  of  his  kind — in  the  presence  of 
pure  and  refined  womanhood  the  human  toad 
becomes  uncomfortably  conscious  of  his  own 
loathsomeness . 

But  now  there  was  a  valid  reason  to  egg  him  on. 
He  would  show  Dick  Willoughby  who  was  who 
on  the  San  Antonio  Rancho.  If  the  heir  to  all 
those  broad  acres  chose  to  pay  court  to  Merle 
Farnsworth,  the  girl  would  only  be  too  glad  to 
jump  at  him  and  his  millions.  He  would  tell  her, 
too,  that  Willoughby  was  going  to  be  fired  and  that 
the  fellow  was  not  worth  a  moment's  consideration. 


100      A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Such  was  his  mood  one  afternoon  when,  his 
motor  car  being  in  the  repair  shop,  he  had  not 
made  his  usual  trip  to  Bakersfield.  "Yes,  he 
would  ride  over  that  very  day  to  La  Siesta;"  and 
he  proceeded  to  fortify  the  resolve  by  opening 
a  bottle  of  champagne  in  the  solitary  seclusion 
of  his  den.  After  gulping  down  the  wine  he  felt 
brave  enough  to  face  the  devil  himself.  Yet, 
when  mounted  on  his  horse,  he  still  evinced 
sufficient  discretion  to  make  a  wide  detour  lest 
Willoughby  should  catch  sight  of  him  and  divine 
his  intentions. 

As  he  rode  along  young  Thurston  nursed  his 
wrath  to  keep  it  warm.  At  the  same  time  the 
desire  to  possess  the  girl  for  her  own  sake  began 
to  inflame  his  imagination.  Unscrupulous  passion 
had  been  bred  in  the  very  bone  of  this  worthless 
degenerate.  Just  as  his  father,  Ben  Thurston, 
had  thirty  years  before  trampled  on  the  virtue  of 
the  young  Spanish  beauty,  Senorita  Rosetta,  the 
sister  of  Don  Manuel,  so  now  was  the  son  hatching 
in  his  brain  a  foul  plot  of  spoliation. 

"I'll  get  even  with  Willoughby,  by  God,  in  the 
very  way  that  will  hurt  his  pride  the  most. 
Women! — pshaw,  they're  all  alike.  And  she's 
a  peacherino  all  right — those  flashing  dark  eyes — 
she  sure  looks  good  to  me."  This  was  now  the 


A  REJECTED  SUITOR  101 

tenor  of  his  musing  as  his  pony  cantered  up  the 
slope  to  La  Siesta. 

He  advanced  on  foot  to  the  portico  with  a 
swagger  and  a  smile,  and  there,  as  luck  would 
have  it,  he  found  Merle  seated  in  a  rocker,  reading, 
and  alone.  She  rose  with  quiet  courtesy  and  re 
turned  his  greeting. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "mother  is  not  at  home. 
She  and  my  sister  Grace  have  driven  over  to  the 
dairy.  We  have  a  model  dairy,  you  know,  on 
La  Siesta,"  she  went  on,  anxious  to  make  conver 
sation  that  would  not  prove  embarrassing.  For 
already  she  divined  some  particular  object  in  the 
young  man's  visit,  knowing  as  she  did  that  he  and 
Willoughby  had  recently  exchanged  angry  words. 

"Won't  you  show  me  your  famous  rose  gar 
dens?"  asked  Thurston,  boldly. 

"With  pleasure,"  she  replied,  assenting  with  a 
sweet  smile  of  politeness,  although  there  was  sore 
reluctance  in  her  heart,  as  she  stepped  from  under 
the  portico. 

But,  unknown  to  herself,  she  did  not  go  un 
attended,  for  as  Merle  and  her  visitor  passed  round 
the  house  and  through  the  shrubberies  there  glided 
after  them  the  figure  of  a  woman,  clothed  in  black, 
wearing  over  her  head  and  shoulders  a  Spanish  man 
tilla.  It  was  Tia  Teresa,  the  ever  watchful  duenna. 


102       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

The  roses  of  La  Siesta,  as  Marshall  Thurston 
had  said,  were  indeed  famous.  Here  were  all  the 
finest  varieties,  growing  in  the  perfection  to  whicli 
only  care  and  scientific  skill  applied  under  ideal 
climatic  conditions  can  attain.  Merle  was  glad 
to  point  out  the  different  blooms  and  give  them 
their  names — the  topic  was  certainly  an  innocuous 
one,  and  she  smiled  at  the  thought  as  they  strolled 
along.  She  was  vaguely  wondering,  too,  whether 
Dick  Willoughby  would  approve  even  this  slight 
measure  of  courtesy  toward  the  visitor  to  her 
home.  Although  she  had  as  yet  not  the  remotest 
conception  that  the  quarrel  at  the  round-up  had 
been  in  any  way  connected  with  her  name,  she 
knew  that  the  two  young  men  were  at  daggers 
drawn,  and  toward  Dick  there  was  the  instinctive 
loyalty  in  her  heart  that  prompted  her  to  count 
his  enemies  as  her  enemies,  his  friends  as  her 
friends. 

The  young  girl  was  too  unversed  in  the  ways  of 
the  world  to  notice  that  Marshall  Thurston  was 
under  the  influence  of  wine.  He  was  too  experi 
enced  a  toper  to  show  any  signs  of  unsteadiness 
on  his  feet,  but  all  the  same  there  was  undoubted 
tipsiness  in  his  leering  side-glances  and  occasional 
slurring  of  his  words.  Of  this  Merle  in  her 
maidenly  innocence  was  supremely  unconscious, 


A  REJECTED  SUITOR  103 

nor  did  she  dream  that  the  very  sparkle  of  her 
eyes  was  completing  the  intoxication  of  wine 
fumes. 

Once  she  cast  a  look  up  the  hill  and  asked  her 
self  whether  the  wizard  of  the  red-tiled  tower  had 
his  spy-glass  on  La  Siesta  and  was  even  then 
quietly  surveying  the  scene  in  the  gardens.  The 
thought  made  her  uncomfortable;  she  felt  sure 
that  her  kind  friend,  Mr.  Robles,  would  not  look 
with  favor  on  her  condescending  to  show  even  the 
slightest  attention  to  one  whose  evil  ways  of  living 
were  notorious. 

Suddenly  she  came  to  a  halt,  close  beside  a 
little  clump  of  oleander  trees  laden  with  rich 
blossoms. 

"I  am  sorry  I  must  leave  you  now,"  she  said, 
quite  abruptly. 

"Leaveme?"  stammered  Thurston.  "What for?" 

"I  have  other  things  to  attend  to,"  she  replied. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Miss  Farnsworth" — the  inebriate 
as  he  spoke  made  a  gesture  of  appeal — "I  hope  you 
are  not  angry  with  me.  If  that  scalawag  of  a 
fellow  Willoughby  told  you  I  said  anything  dis 
respectful  of  you  the  other  day,  he  is  a  derned 
liar — that's  what  he  is,  a  derned  liar,  and  a  poor 
penniless  beggar  as  well,  whom  my  father's  going 
to  fire  off  the  ranch." 


104       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Merle  stood  speechless.  She  stepped  back 
when  Thurston  advanced  with  outstretched  hands. 

"The  truth  of  the  whole  matter  is,"  he  rambled 
on,  with  growing  incoherence,  "I  am  madly  in  love 
with  you  myself.  That's  what  I  am,  and  I'm 
going  to  have  you,  too."  And  he  grabbed  her 
fiercely  and  attempted  to  draw  her  to  him. 

Merle  screamed  both  in  fear  and  in  repulsion 
as  she  tried  to  push  him  away. 

Just  then,  from  among  the  oleanders,  rushed 
Tia  Teresa.  The  old  duenna  came  like  a  cyclone. 
Her  eyes  blazed  with  anger.  Grasping  the  young 
libertine  by  the  collar  of  his  coat,  she  pulled  him 
madly  from  the  now  half-fainting  girl.  Then, 
whirling  him  around,  she  rushed  him,  with  the 
strength  and  ferocity  of  a  tigress  defending  her 
whelps,  down  the  gravelled  path  and  flung  him 
bodily  over  the  low  retaining  wall  along  the 
embankment  that  separated  the  rose  gardens 
from  the  public  road.  She  spat  upon  his  prostrate 
figure  below  and  rained  down  on  him  a  torrent  of 
imprecations  in  the  Spanish  tongue. 

It  was  all  over  in  one  brief  minute.  When 
young  Thurston  picked  himself  up,  it  was  to  see 
the  aged  fury  half-leading,  half-carrying  Merle 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 

"The  hell  cat,"  he  murmured. 


A  REJECTED  SUITOR  105 

Then  he  brushed  the  dirt  from  his  coat  and 
straightened  out  his  tumbled  appearance  as  best 
he  could.  His  horse  was  tied  to  the  gate  post  a 
hundred  yards  along  the  road.  He  slunk  toward 
it,  climbed  into  the  saddle,  and  rode  slowly  away 
in  the  falling  twilight.  He  had  been  thoroughly 
sobered  by  the  incident,  yet  continued  somewhat 
dazed,  for  his  horse  was  headed  toward  the  woods 
and  hills  and  not  in  the  direction  of  home. 


CHAPTER  XII 
The  Sped  Bullet 

MEANWHILE  events  had  been  happening 
in  the  conning  tower  high  up  among 
the  hills.  The  Mexican  boy  on  duty 
had  observed  the  lone  rider  approaching  the 
gateway  at  La  Siesta,  and  for  a  brief  few  moments 
had  put  the  figure  under  observation  by  the 
telescope.  He  had  then  sprung  alertly  erect  and 
pressed  a  button  on  the  wall.  Mr.  Robles  had 
quickly  responded  to  the  summons,  and  it  was  he 
who  had  had  his  eye  to  the  lens  during  the  scene 
in  the  rose  garden  which  had  terminated  in  the 
ignominious  expulsion  of  young  Thurston  at  the 
hands  of  the  infuriated  duenna. 

When  the  recluse  at  last  withdrew  his  gaze, 
his  hands  were  clenched  and  he  stood  absolutely 
rigid  in  the  tenseness  of  his  indignation.  He  had 
seen  Merle's  insultor  ride  toward  the  hills  and 
Merle  herself  taken  indoors  under  Tia  Teresa's 
protecting  care.  For  almost  a  minute  the  storm 
of  rage  held  him,  then  he  relaxed  and  his  look 
changed  to  one  of  terrible  determination.  He 

(106) 


THE  SPED  BULLET  107 

seized  a  rifle  that  was  hanging  on  one  of  the  walls 
and  swiftly  departed. 

At  the  arched  gateway  he  spoke  a  few  words  to 
the  two  retainers  on  guard,  and  when  he  passed 
through  the  postern  one  of  them,  also  equipped 
with  a  rifle,  followed.  Taking  a  cross-cut  from  the 
high  road,  together  they  descended  the  wooded 
hillside. 

In  a  little  canyon  just  below  the  forest  Dick 
Willoughby  was  rounding  up  a  bunch  of  vagrant 
steers.  He  was  alone,  riding  at  a  walking  pace, 
driving  a  dozen  or  more  beasts  in  front  of  him, 
and  keeping  an  eye  among  the  brushwood  search 
ing  for  more. 

On  the  roadway  through  the  woods  Marshall 
Thurston  ambled  along.  He  was  a  poor  and 
awkward  rider  at  all  times,  the  discreetly-veiled 
jest  of  the  nimble  cowboys,  to  whom  reins,  saddle, 
and  spurs  were  all  as  second  nature.  Now,  when 
he  imagined  himself  free  from  observation,  he  did 
not  take  pains  to  display  even  a  semblance  of 
horsemanship  and,  with  bridle  dropped,  steadied 
himself  by  a  grip  on  the  saddle  horn. 

In  her  bedroom  Merle  had  soon  recovered  from 
her  distress  of  mind.  Dashing  the  tears  from  her 
eyes,  she  had  enjoined  Tia  Teresa  to  say  nothing 
to  anyone  about  the  unpleasant  incident.  Mrs. 


108       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Darlington  would  be  angered  and  would  certainly 
tell  Mr.  Robles,  while  if  the  story  ever  reached 
Dick's  ears  there  could  be  no  saying  what  further 
trouble  might  not  ensue — a  horse-whipping  at 
least,  with  jeopardy  to  Dick's  position  at  the 
rancho  and  embitterment  of  an  already  dangerous 
quarrel.  So  Tia  Teresa,  to  complete  the  com 
forting  process,  had  assented  to  secrecy. 

On  the  pathway  down  through  the  forest  the 
Mexican,  now  in  advance,  uttered  a  low  "hist," 
halted,  and  held  out  a  warning  hand  toward  his 
master.  The  gaze  of  both  was  now  fixed  in  the 
same  direction.  Below  them  could  be  seen  the 
figure  of  the  horseman  coming  around  a  bend  in 
the  roadway.  The  Mexican  raised  his  rifle  to 
the  shoulder,  but  the  hand  of  Robles  detained 
him.  The  time  was  not  yet — the  distance  was  too 
great  in  view  of  the  obstructing  timber. 

Robles  turned  away  and  rested  an  arm  against 
a  tree  trunk.  His  eyes  were  downcast;  for  the 
moment  his  mind  was  far  away.  He  saw  once 
again  the  little  cemetery  on  the  hill,  with  the 
marble  cross  inscribed  "Hermana,"  and  the  other 
gravestone  at  the  head  of  the  twin  mounds  that 
marked  the  resting  place  of  his  parents  whose 
hearts  had  been  broken  by  Rosetta's  tragic  end. 
The  fingers  of  the  man  who  had  long  years  ago 


THE  SPED  BULLET  109 

sworn  the  vendetta  worked  nervously,  closing  and 
unclosing  themselves. 

The  rider  was  nearer  now,  in  a  higher  loop  of 
the  road  where  the  trees  were  more  scattered  than 
below.  Merle,  drowsy  from  the  reaction  of  her 
emotions,  had  dropped  off  asleep  on  her  sofa. 
Tia  Teresa  had  returned  to  the  portico,  to  make 
sure  that  the  interloper  had  taken  himself  off  for 
good  and  would  not  return.  In  the  little  canyon 
Dick  Willoughby  was  quietly  riding  behind  his 
accumulating  drove  of  cattle. 

Suddenly  a  shot  from  among  the  woods  rang 
through  the  air.  Tia  Teresa  heard  it,  and  after 
the  start  of  first  surprise,  into  her  eyes  came  the 
light  of  swift  comprehension  and  her  whole  face 
was  illumed  by  fierce  vindictive  joy.  "At  last, 
at  last,"  she  murmured,  "vengeance  begins." 
And  hi  the  fervor  of  her  triumph  she  threw  up 
her  extended  arms,  as  if  to  give  benediction  to 
a  righteous  deed. 

Dick  also  heard  the  sharp  detonation  which 
his  experienced  ear  knew  at  once  to  be  from  a 
rifle,  not  from  the  shot-gun  that  some  sportsman 
after  quail  or  rabbits  might  have  been  using.  He 
betrayed  no  great  surprise — just  the  unspoken 
word  "curious"  hovered  on  his  lips  as,  halting  his 
horse,  he  turned  in  his  saddle  to  glance  upward 


110       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

in  the  direction  whence  the  sound  had  come. 
Then  after  a  moment  he  wheeled  the  pony  round, 
and,  abandoning  his  drove  for  the  present, 
ascended  at  a  leisurely  pace  the  narrow  pathway 
which  he  knew  communicated  with  the  winding 
highroad  above. 

When  the  bullet  had  reached  its  fated  billet, 
Marshall  Thurston's  fingers  were  still  gripping 
the  saddle  horn.  And  right  there  the  missile  of 
death  struck,  glancing  upward  from  the  metal 
crown  and  piercing  the  victim  right  through  the 
heart.  Not  a  cry — just  an  outflung  arm,  a  sway 
ing  figure  slipping  down  onto  the  roadway,  and 
a  terrified  riderless  horse  pivoting  quickly  round 
on  its  haunches,  then  galloping  madly  for  home. 

Dick,  glancing  upward  through  the  timber, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  fleeing  steed,  and  he 
touched  his  own  pony  with  the  spur  so  that  it, 
too,  darted  forward. 

Farther  along  the  road  Tia  Teresa  heard  the 
clatter  of  the  hoofs  and  saw  the  animal  in  its  swift 
stride  disappear  in  the  direction  of  the  rancho. 
She  knew  now  for  certain  that  her  surmise  was 
correct,  and  the  first  flush  of  triumph  on  her  face 
settled  down  into  an  expression  of  grim  satis 
faction.  "It  served  him  right  in  any  case,"  she 
muttered.  "It  was  just  what  the  young  villain 


THE  SPED  BULLET  111 

deserved."  Then  she  re-entered  the  house  and 
passed  upstairs.  Her  young  mistress  was  placidly 
asleep,  smiling  in  her  dreams.  The  duenna 
nodded  her  head  in  a  satisfied  sort  of  way;  Merle 
would  learn  the  news  at  the  proper  tune,  and  would 
not  meanwhile  be  agitated  by  wild  conjectures. 
So  she  tiptoed  from  the  room,  and  was  soon 
busied  with  domestic  duties  as  if  nothing  had 
happened. 

Dick,  emerging  on  foot  from  the  last  steep 
ascent  of  the  canyon,  promptly  swung  himself 
again  into  the  saddle  and  started  at  a  loping 
canter  up  the  winding  roadway  through  the 
woods.  After  rounding  the  first  corner  he  spied 
the  huddled  figure  on  the  ground.  Before  he 
turned  the  body  over  he  knew  that  the  man  was 
dead.  But  when  the  dead  face  looked  up  at  his, 
it  was  with  a  terrible  shock  of  surprise  that  he 
recognized  Marshall  Thurston. 

Dick  stood  for  a  few  moments,  gazing  around 
in  utter  bewilderment.  One  hand  of  the  dead 
man  was  shattered  and  bloody,  while  a  big 
splurge  of  red  on  the  shirt  showed  where  the 
bullet  had  completed  its  work.  Murder — palp 
able  murder !  But  who  could  have  done  this  deed? 
Who  had  any  valid  motive  to  rid  the  world  of 
this  stray  piece  of  humanity — and  in  such  cold- 


112       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

blooded  manner,  not  in  the  heat  of  some  angry 
quarrel,  but  by  a  deliberate  act  of  assassination 
in  a  place  so  lonely  as  these  pine-clad  hills?  Dick 
sat  him  down  by  the  roadside  and  pondered 
these  questions. 

There  was  no  real  pity  hi  his  heart.  Young 
Thurston  had  been  utterly  bad — not  big-brained 
enough  to  belong  to  the  social  dregs,  but  just 
equally  worthless  scum,  the  more  repellent  because 
it  made  itself  visible  all  the  tune.  He  would 
pass  almost  without  a  tear  except  from  the  father 
whose  own  record  had  been  so  foully  besmeared 
that  there  could  be  scant  sympathy  even  for  him 
in  the  hour  of  his  bereavement. 

Dick  just  wondered  and  wondered.  For  the 
time  being  he  had  quite  forgotten  that  old  legend 
— the  Vendetta  of  the  Hills. 


CHAPTER  Xin 
Accused 

ABOUND  the  horse  corral  at  the  San  Antonio 
Rancho  some  half-dozen  cowboys  were 
squatted  on  their  heels,  cowboy-fashion, 
swapping  the  news  of  the  day.  They  had  ridden 
in  from  various  points  of  the  compass,  and  two 
or  three  of  their  horses,  those  of  the  latest  comers, 
still  stood  saddled  outside  the  enclosure,  the 
reins  dropped  loosely  over  their  heads,  which 
for  the  trained  cow-pony  is  just  as  effective  an 
anchorage  as  any  stake  and  rope. 

Two  or  three  cigarettes  were  a-light,  and  the 
"makings"  were  passing  from  hand  to  hand  among 
those  not  yet  engaged  in  the  leisurely  blowing  of 
smoke  rings.  The  topic  of  conversation  was  the 
rumored  sale  of  the  ranch,  which  some  declared 
to  be  assuredly  impending,  while  others  dismissed 
the  possibility  of  such  a  big  deal  going  through 
as  the  merest  moonshine. 

Jack  Rover  was  among  those  who  had  no 
illusions  as  to  the  future. 

"Believe  me,  fellers,"  he  was  remarking,  "it's 

(113) 


114      A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

no  false  alarm  this  time.  The  old  rancho  is  as 
good  as  sold,  the  stock  is  a-going  to  be  shipped 
out,  the  farmers  is  a-coming  in,  and  in  a  few 
months'  tune  we'll  all  be  hunting  jobs  if  there's 
any  more  cow-punching  jobs  left  in  this  blamed 
new  topsy-turvy  world.  And  that's  the  straight 
goods— hell!" 

Just  as  this  terse  and  vigorous  summation  of 
the  whole  dispute  found  utterance,  all  eyes  were 
turned  in  a  particular  direction.  It  was  young 
Thurston's  riderless  steed  that  had  attracted 
attention  as  it  swept  toward  its  accustomed 
quarters  in  the  corral. 

"It's  Marshall's  horse,"  observed  one  of  the 
boys. 

"Off  again,  on  again,  gone  again,  Flannigan," 
laughed  another — an  adaptation  of  a  popular 
story  that  evoked  a  general  grin. 

But  one  youth  had  sprung  to  his  feet,  and 
skilfully  caught  the  bridle  of  the  panting  animal 
as  it  passed  him. 

"Whoa,  beauty!" 

The  others  had  not  stirred.  The  involuntary 
dismounting  of  the  young  boss  was  too  familiar 
an  episode  to  provoke  anything  more  than  a  laugh 
tinctured  with  mild  satisfaction — "No  Easterner 
can  ride  a  Western  broncho,  anyhow." 


ACCUSED  115 

"Pass  your  baccy,  Bob,"  came  a  voice  from  the 
ring.  But  the  cowboy  holding  the  riderless  horse 
now  brought  them  all  to  instant  attention. 

"By  God,  he's  been  shot!  There's  blood  on  the 
horn,  and  here's  the  rip  of  the  bullet." 

Everyone  was  on  their  feet  now,  and  the  situ 
ation  was  being  eagerly  discussed  while  the  saddle 
was  undergoing  confirmatory  inspection. 

"Something's  happened,  boys,"  exclaimed  the 
big  husky  fellow  addressed  as  Bob,  conclusively, 
if  somewhat  obviously.  "And  I  guess  we'd  better 
investigate." 

As  he  spoke  he  swung  himself  into  his  saddle — 
he  had  been  one  of  the  late  arrivals  and  his  horse 
was  all  ready  for  the  road  or  the  range. 

"Up  toward  the  hills  then,"  remarked  another, 
indicating  the  direction  whence  the  riderless  horse 
had  come.  And  a  moment  later  he,  too,  was 
astride  his  broncho. 

"I'll  borrow  your  pony,  Ted,"  cried  out  Jack 
Rover  as  he  jumped  astride  a  third  mustang. 

And  a  moment  later  all  three  riders  were 
pelting  along  the  road  leading  to  La  Siesta.  There 
was  no  difficulty  whatever  in  picking  up  the  long 
galloping  strides  on  the  dusty  highway,  and  the 
speed  of  the  trackers  depended  only  on  the 
swiftness  and  endurance  of  their  mounts. 


116       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Meanwhile  the  boy  who  had  caught  Marshall's 
horse  had  disencumbered  it  of  saddle  and  bridle, 
and  turned  it  into  the  corral  with  a  kindly  pat  on 
its  heaving  flank. 

"Guess  I'll  report  to  the  boss,"  he  called  out, 
as  he  picked  up  the  saddle  and  moved  away 
toward  the  ranch  home. 

"Look  out  for  yourself,"  shouted  one  of  the 
group.  "Old  Thurston  will  be  madder  than  hell." 

But  it  was  terror,  selfish  terror,  not  anger  nor 
grief,  that  came  into  Ben  Thurston 's  eyes  when  he 
saw  the  saddle  horn  smeared  with  fresh  blood 
and  scarred  by  a  bullet. 

"My  God,  and  I  believed  Don  Manuel  was  dead," 
he  whispered  in  a  hoarse  voice  to  Leach  Sharkey. 

The  two  had  been,  as  usual,  in  close  com 
panionship;  Sharkey  reading  a  weekly  newspaper, 
while  the  employer  he  was  paid  to  protect,  rest 
lessly,  as  was  his  wont,  paced  the  room. 

"Disappeared  and  dead  ain't  exactly  the  same 
thing,"  replied  the  sleuth  as  he  critically  examined 
the  saddle.  "And  there  may  be  another  explana 
tion  to  this.  What  about  Dick  Willoughby?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Dick  Willoughby,"  eagerly  assented 
the  trembling  man. 

"You  saw  them  quarreling  the  other  day — • 
they  hate  each  other  like  poison,"  continued 


ACCUSED  117 

Sharkey.  "Where's  Dick  Willoughby  now?"  he 
enquired,  with  a  swift  glance  at  the  cowboy. 

'"Good  Lord,  that's  just  where  he  is — searching 
the  canyons  below  the  forest  for  mavericks,"  was 
the  reply. 

Sharkey  smiled  blandly;  the  informant  looked 
disappointed,  yet  confident. 

"I  couldn't  have  believed  that  of  Dick,"  he 
added,  regretfully. 

"Well,  clear  out  now,"  said  Sharkey.  "Mr. 
Thurston  and  I  will  want  to  be  alone.  You  say 
Jack  Rover  and  two  others  have  gone  out  to  search? 
Well,  we  can't  do  more  till  they  bring  us  in  some 
news.  Let  us  know  at  once  when  they  return." 

Ben  Thurston  had  collapsed  onto  a  chair,  then 
raised  himself,  and  was  leaning  eagerly  forward 
now.  He  met  Sharkey 's  glance  of  hardly  con 
cealed  contempt. 

"That's  right,"  he  murmured,  "It  has  been 
Dick  Willoughby 's  work.  I  knew  Don  Manuel 
was  dead." 

"And  what  about  your  boy?"  asked  the  sleuth 
curtly. 

"Oh,  yes,  poor  Marshall!  I  forgot  about  him. 
But  perhaps  he's  only  wounded.  We'll  send  to 
Bakersfield  for  a  doctor."  And  he  half  rose  from 
his  seat. 


118       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"You'll  just  wait  patiently  here,"  replied 
Sharkey,  as  he  pushed  Thurston  back  into  his 
chair.  "All  that  is  possible  for  the  present  is 
being  done." 

And  the  r6les  were  now  reversed — it  was  the 
bodyguard  who  slowly  and  meditatively  paced 
the  room. 

Meanwhile  Dick  Willoughby  had  ceased  from 
his  ruminations,  and  was  beginning  to  take 
practical  steps  for  getting  Marshall's  body  home. 
He  had  no  thought  of  coroner's  regulations  that 
a  corpse  should  be  left  undisturbed  till  the  proper 
official  investigation  had  been  made.  He  had 
got  his  riata  ready,  and  was  just  going  to  sling 
the  body  across  his  saddle  and  tie  it  there,  when 
the  rhythmic  thud  of  clattering  hoofs  smote  upon 
his  ear.  Thank  God!  Help  was  coming.  There 
would  be  others  to  assist  him  in  his  gruesome  task. 
So  Dick  patiently  waited  while  the  sound  grew 
nearer  and  nearer,  until  at  last  the  three  cowboys 
dashed  round  the  bend. 

"I  heard  the  rifle  shot,"  Dick  explained,  "and 
rode  up  from  the  canyon  below  to  have  a  look. 
I  found  him  here,  huddled  up  just  as  you  see  him 
by  the  side  of  the  road." 

"Who  the  devil  did  this?"  asked  Jack  Rover, 
contemplating  the  corpse. 


ACCUSED  119 

"God  only  knows,"  replied  Dick.  "You  take 
him  on  your  saddle,  Bob,"  he  added,  addressing 
the  big  cowboy,  whose  horse  was  a  full  hand  taller 
than  the  other  ponies  and  more  stalwart  in 
proportion. 

And  so  the  cortege  was  formed,  Jack  Rover 
leading  the  way,  with  Bob  and  the  body  following 
and  Dick  Willoughby  bringing  up  the  rear. 

The  sun  was  low  when  at  last  they  gained 
the  rancho.  They  made  their  way  quietly  round 
to  the  bunk  house  and  quite  tenderly  swathed 
the  mortal  remains  of  the  young  boss  in  a  blanket, 
before  carrying  it  to  his  father's  home. 

At  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  old  Ben 
Thurston,  with  Leach  Sharkey  close  on  his  heels, 
emerged  onto  the  verandah.  There  was  no  need 
to  announce  the  death  of  his  son — the  ominous 
bundle  told  its  own  sad  tale.  The  ranch  owner 
stared  at  it,  horrified,  inarticulate  from  a  conflict 
of  emotions,  the  hunted  look  of  terror  again  in  his 
eyes.  Leach  Sharkey  took  up  the  work  of  interro 
gation. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  He  was  addressing 
Jack  Rover,  who  chanced  to  stand  next  to  him 
after  helping  to  deposit  the  body  on  a  bench 
that  stood  conveniently  against  the  wall. 

"Dick  Willoughby  heard  the  shot  up  among 


120       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  woods,  and  found  him  lying  dead  on  the  road." 

Sharkey  advanced  a  pace  or  two  and  confronted 
Dick. 

"Who  fired  the  shot?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  retorted  Dick,  reddening 
slightly  from  the  brusqueness  of  the  enquiry. 

"I  reckon  I  can  tell,"  cried  Sharkey.  And  with 
a  swift,  experienced  movement  he  grabbed  Dick 
by  both  arms  and  clicked  a  pair  of  handcuffs  on 
his  wrists  before  anyone,  Dick  least  of  all,  had 
fathomed  his  intention. 

Dick  Willoughby  was  a  square-shouldered, 
powerful  fellow,  but  the  great  husky  bodyguard, 
Leach  Sharkey,  towered  above  him.  In  the  first 
flush  of  anger  and  surprise  Dick  struggled  to 
break  the  shackles  of  ignominy.  But  the  sleuth 
grabbed  him  by  both  shoulders  with  a  grip  that 
rendered  its  recipient  absolutely  powerless. 

"Go  easy,  young  man." 

Dick's  muscles  relaxed,  and  Sharkey  was  con 
tent  to  release  his  hold. 

"Go  easy.  If  you  have  any  answer  to  make 
to  the  charge  of  murdering  that  boy,  you'll  have 
the  chance  all  in  good  time." 

"What  right  have  you  to  arrest  me?"  demanded 
Dick,  somewhat  recovering  his  poise. 

"Oh,  I've  a  special  constable's  star  all  right," 


ACCUSED  121 

replied  Sharkey,  throwing  open  his  coat  and  dis 
playing,  close  to  his  armpit,  the  badge  of  the 
office  he  had  claimed. 

"Guess  that's  good  enough  for  you  and  all  others 
here.  And  now  take  my  advice,  Willoughby. 
You'll  come  quietly  with  me  to  Bakersfield. 
I've  no  special  grudge  against  you,  but  have  my 
obvious  duty  to  perform.  You  threatened  young 
Marshall  more  than  once  in  all  our  hearing,  and 
it  will  be  up  to  you  to  prove  yourself  guiltless  of 
his  death.  You  bring  round  Mr.  Thurston's 
automobile,  Rover.  We  start  right  now.'* 

Everything  had  happened  so  rapidly  that  none 
of  the  cowboys,  had  they  so  desired,  could  have 
protested  or  interfered.  Meanwhile  the  news  had 
spread,  for  others  among  the  ranch  hands  were 
coming  up  and  crowding  toward  the  verandah 
rails.  General  sympathy  was  obviously  with 
Dick.  Several  of  the  onlookers  advanced  and 
shook  his  manacled  hands.  "All  right,  Mr. 
Willoughby,"  "You'll  be  home  again  tomorrow," 
"Buck  up,  it's  a  ridiculous  charge" — these  were 
among  their  expressions  of  encouragement.  Dick 
just  smiled  his  thanks — a  wan,  wistful  smile. 
He  now  had  himself  under  perfect  control — even 
his  resentment  toward  Sharkey  had  been  allowed 
to  evaporate. 


122       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Very  well,"  he  said  quietly,  addressing  the 
sleuth.  "I'll  give  you  no  trouble,  Sharkey.  Let 
us  get  away  from  here  as  quickly  as  possible.'* 

Just  then  Lieutenant  Munson  came  hurriedly 
onto  the  scene.  For  a  moment  he  looked  thunder 
struck  when  he  saw  the  handcuffs  around  Dick's 
wrists. 

"Great  Scott,  Dick!  What's  the  meaning  of 
this?"  Then  without  waiting  for  a  reply  he 
turned  to  the  sleuth. 

"I've  just  heard  about  young  Thurston's  death, 
but  you're  surely  not  going  to  mix  up  Dick 
Willoughby's  name  with  it,  Mr.  Sharkey?  You 
must  know  that  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
such  a  cowardly  crime." 

"He  can  prove  all  that  at  the  proper  tune  and 
place,"  was  the  cool,  determined  rejoinder. 

"Don't  interfere,  Munson,"  interposed  Dick. 
"Mr.  Sharkey  considers  that  he  is  doing  his  duty. 
That's  an  end  to  all  argument.  I'll  have  no 
difficulty  in  obtaining  my  release  once  we  get  to 
Bakersfield." 

"And  the  lieutenant  can  come  along  with  us  if 
he  likes,"  observed  the  sleuth,  conciliated  by  his 
prisoner's  sensible  view  of  things.  "As  Mr. 
Willoughby's  best  friend,  you  can  see  that  every 
thing's  done  right,  Mr.  Munson." 


ACCUSED  123 

"But  why  these  handcuffs?" 

"I  know  my  own  business,"  replied  the  sleuth, 
with  returning  severity,  as  he  touched  the  con 
stable's  star  on  his  breast.  "And  as  a  soldier  you 
should  know  the  wisdom  of  letting  it  go  at  that, 
sir." 

Munson  turned  to  Mr.  Thurston.  All  through 
the  colloquy  the  ranch-owner  had  spoken  not 
a  word.  He  had  dropped  onto  the  bench  beside 
the  still  swathed  body  of  his  son,  and  was  sitting 
there  with  bowed  head  and  stolidly  fixed  eyes. 

"You  are  no  party  to  this  accusation,  Mr. 
Thurston?"  the  lieutenant  enquired.  "I  am 
sorry  for  the  blow  that  has  fallen  on  you.  But 
you  can't  seriously  believe  that  Dick  Willoughby's 
the  man  who  fired  that  shot."  As  he  spoke  he 
pointed  at  the  dead  rigid  form. 

Thurston  raised  his  eyes.  There  was  a  dull  glare 
of  fury  in  them,  a  savage  snarl  on  his  parted  lips. 

"Mind  your  own  business,  young  man.  He 
killed  my  boy,  and  by  God  he'll  hang  for  it." 

While  speaking  he  rose  to  his  feet,  holding  forth 
a  denouncing  arm  toward  Willoughby 

"Yes,  he'll  hang  for  it,"  he  growled  again  with 
savage  determination,  turning  round  to  the  open 
door. 

With  a  gesture  to  the  cowboys  standing  nearest, 


124       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

he  bade  them  carry  the  body  within.  He  stood 
aside  to  let  them  pass  with  their  burden,  then 
followed  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him  with 
an  angry  bang. 

Despite  the  tragedy  of  it  all,  a  little  smile  went 
round  the  group  of  onlookers.  It  meant  to  say 
that  that  was  just  Ben  Thurston  all  over — iras 
cible  and  vindictive.  But  some  faces  looked  grave. 

"May  go  mighty  hard  with  Willoughby," 
murmured  one  voice,  that  of  the  old  grey-headed 
man,  the  blacksmith  at  the  rancho  for  twenty 
years  or  more.  "I  wouldn't  like  to  feel  the  weight 
of  the  old  devil's  hand." 

But  just  then  the  automobile  came  round  the 
house,  piloted  by  Jack  Rover.  Sharkey  began  to 
make  his  dispositions  for  the  journey. 

"Do  you  want  to  take  anything  with  you, 
Willoughby?"  he  asked  in  a  considerate  manner. 

"Nothing,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"Well  then,  you'll  ride  with  me  on  the  front 
seat.  Lieutenant,  you  can  share  the  tonneau 
with  Mr.  Thurston."  There  was  a  slight  grin  on 
the  sleuth's  face  as  he  signified  the  arrangement. 

"Mr.  Thurston?"  queried  Munson,  taken  some 
what  aback.  "Does  he  come,  too?" 

"Sure,"  replied  Sharkey.  "Who's  going  to 
make  the  charge,  I'd  like  to  know?  Willoughby, 


ACCUSED  125 

I  just  need  your  promise  that  you  won't  move 
from  this  verandah  till  I  return." 

Dick  nodded  assent.  "You  have  my  word," 
he  said  with  quiet  dignity. 

'Then  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute,"  added  the 
sleuth,  his  hand  on  the  door  knob. 

Ben  Thurston  was  standing  alone  in  the  centre 
of  the  living  room,  the  body  with  its  bearers 
having  passed  to  an  inner  apartment.  His  arms 
were  folded  across  his  breast  in  an  attitude  of 
deep  dejection.  But  it  was  with  the  scared  look 
of  a  hunted  beast  that  he  started  away  at  the 
touch  of  Leach  Sharkey's  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

The  sleuth  smiled  understandingly. 

"You  don't  want  to  be  left  here  all  alone,  do 
you?" 

"No,  no.  For  God's  sake,  no.  I  had  for 
gotten  that." 

"Then  you've  got  to  come  with  me  to  Bakers- 
field.  In  any  case  you  will  be  wanted  to  swear 
the  information.  And  you  can  also  make  arrange 
ments  for  the  funeral.  So  get  your  hat  and  over 
coat.  We  are  all  ready  outside." 

"Yes,  yes,  I'm  coming,"  faltered  Thurston. 
"Wait  for  me,  Sharkey,"  he  added,  as  with  nervous 
fingers  he  detached  his  overcoat  from  a  rack 
on  the  wall. 


126       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

And  a  few  minutes  later  the  automobile,  with 
Sharkey  at  the  wheel,  the  handcuffed  prisoner 
by  his  side,  and  Thurston  and  the  lieutenant 
seated  frigidly  apart  in  opposite  corners  of  the 
tonneau,  was  spinning  through  the  gathering 
dusk  of  evening  on  its  way  to  the  county  town 
of  Bakersfield. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
Entanglements 

FROM  the  observatory  high  up  among  the 
hills,  Mr.  Robles  had  witnessed  the  arrest 
and  the  departure  of  the  prisoner.  He  had 
understood  every  move  just  as  if  he  had  been 
present  on  the  verandah  down  below  and  had 
heard  each  spoken  word. 

As  he  stood  erect,  his  hand  still  rested  on  the 
telescope.  For  a  few  moments  he  pondered,  then 
murmured  to  himself  as  he  turned  to  leave  the 
room:  "A  bad  complication!  I  must  break  the 
news  tonight  to  Merle.  Poor  little  girl!" 

But  it  was  two  hours  later  before  he  wended  his 
way  down  through  the  moonlit  forest  in  the 
direction  of  La  Siesta. 

There  dinner  was  over.  No  word  of  untoward 
happenings  had  as  yet  come  from  the  outside 
world  to  disturb  the  tranquillity  of  the  little 
household.  In  the  drawing  room  Merle  was  at 
the  piano,  while  Grace,  close  by,  was  curled  on  a 
sofa  reading  the  latest  novel.  At  some  distance 
from  the  young  girls  was  Mrs.  Darlington,  occu- 

(127) 


128       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

pied  intermittently  over  a  piece  of  embroidery. 

She  was  seated  in  semi-darkness,  only  her  hands 
and  her  work  illumed  by  the  soft  pink  radiance 
of  a  shaded  lamp  resting  on  a  little  table  by  her 
side.  In  the  evening  costume  of  the  chatelaine 
of  La  Siesta  was  the  suggestion  of  old  lace  and 
old-time  lavender — the  old  lace  at  her  bosom  and 
around  her  neck,  the  subtle  fragrance  of  lavender 
exhaled  from  her  garments  that  gave  to  her  a  sort 
of  personal  atmosphere.  And  as  she  sat  musingly, 
with  the  skeins  of  silk  passing  through  her  fingers, 
she  might  have  formed  a  picture  of  some  Penelope 
seated  at  the  loom  of  pensive  memory. 

The  music  from  the  piano  was  in  harmony  with 
both  her  mood  and  her  attitude — the  soft  dreamy 
melodies  of  Mendelssohn's  "Songs  without  Words" 
to  which  she  was  vaguely  listening  while  busy 
with  her  thoughts  and  her  stitches. 

Downstairs  amid  the  oriental  luxuriousness  of 
the  cosy  corner  sat  Tia  Teresa,  waiting  in  the 
dark  to  intercept  the  visitor  of  whose  coming 
she  had  been  apprized  by  a  secret  messenger. 
And  at  last  Ricardo  Robles  came,  with  the  noise 
less  footfall  that  was  characteristic  of  the  man 
and  imparted  to  him  an  air  of  mystery.  He  was 
standing  by  the  old  duenna's  side  before  she 
had  realized  his  presence. 


ENTANGLEMENTS  129 

"I  wanted  a  few  words  with  you  first  of  all, 
Tia  Teresa,"  he  murmured,  as  she  grasped  his 
hand  in  both  her  own  and  affectionately  kissed 
it.  "Something  has  happened." 

"I  know  what  has  happened,  Don  Manuel," 
she  whispered.  "The  young  man  deserved  his 
fate,  for  I  am  sure  you  saw  what  occurred  in  the 
rose  garden  during  the  afternoon.  For  one  of 
his  breed  to  have  dared  even  to  touch  my  little 
girl!"  She  hissed  the  words  venomously,  then 
added  in  calmer  tone:  "So  all  is  well.  He  brought 
down  his  doom  upon  his  own  head,  and  vengeance 
for  Rosetta  begins." 

Robles  pressed  her  hand  as  he  disengaged  his 
own  from  her  almost  fiercely  caressing  touch. 

"I  nursed  you  both,"  continued  the  duenna 
in  a  low  impassioned  voice.  "Your  people  were 
my  people,  you  children  were  my  very  life,  and 
your  revenge  has  come  to  be  my  own.  So  I 
rejoice  that  the  young  ruffian  died." 

He  had  seated  himself  by  her  side  on  the  divan. 

"We  shall  say  no  more  then  about  that,"  he 
responded.  "In  some  ways  I  am  sorry  over  the 
day's  work.  At  times  I  find  it  difficult  to  reconcile 
my  firmness  with  my  softness." 

"But  you  cannot  forget  that  you  are  no  longer 
the  owner  of  your  father's  lands  and  flocks,  and 


130       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

are  virtually  childless  besides."  She  breathed  the 
words  with  intense  repressed  fury,  intensified  as 
she  added:  "And  all  through  the  accursed  gringo 
who  wrecked  our  happy  lives — Rosetta's,  yours, 
your  beloved  parents'  as  well.  While  that 
abominable  wretch  lives,  the  vendetta  can  never 
end." 

For  a  moment  Robles  remained  silent.  Then 
he  spoke  resolutely: 

"I  know  it,  Tia  Teresa.  Today  my  work  only 
begins.  Rest  assured  that  it  will  be  carried  to 
the  bitter  finish.  For  this  I  have  waited  all 
through  those  long  years.  But  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  of  another  matter — to  warn  you  of  a  very 
serious  complication.  Dick  Willoughby  has  been 
arrested  for  the  slaying  of  Marshall  Thurston." 

The  duenna  sat  bolt  upright  in  shocked  surprise. 

"Oh,  my!  What  will  this  mean?"  she  mur 
mured. 

"Terrible  grief  for  my  little  girl — possibly  much 
suffering  for  him  until  I  choose  to  take  the  respon 
sibility  upon  myself." 

"You  must  not  do  that." 

"No.  Not  yet,  at  all  events.  Or  the  victory 
will  be  his — my  enemy's." 

He  mused  again.  She,  too,  remained  silent. 
At  last  he  broke  the  spell. 


ENTANGLEMENTS  131 

"But  I  have  already  devised  measures  for  his 
safety.  Now  I  must  go  upstairs.  They  have 
heard  nothing  yet?" 

"Not  a  word.5' 

"Then  I  must  tell  them  of  the  mysterious  shoot 
ing  in  the  woods,  and  at  the  same  time  reassure 
Merle  that  her  lover  is  in  no  real  danger." 

"And  Mrs.  Darlington?"  asked  Tia  Teresa. 
"How  much  is  she  to  know?" 

"Nothing!  The  vendetta  is  for  us  Spaniards. 
It  is  ours  and  ours  alone.  No  one  knows  of  my 
vow  but  you  and  I.  Let  it  remain  so.  Adios,  my 
dear  friend." 

In  the  darkness  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  on 
both  cheeks.  For  a  moment  she  clung  to  him, 
but  he  gently  liberated  himself  from  her  embrace. 
He  moved  toward  the  stairway,  and  Tia  Teresa 
followed  him  cautiously  up  to  the  drawing  room 
door,  outside  of  which  she  remained.  Knowing 
that  she  was  there,  he  left  the  door  ajar.  The 
soft  music  was  still  playing,  but  suddenly  ceased 
when  Robles  advanced  into  the  apartment. 

"My  word,  but  this  is  an  unexpected  pleasure," 
exclaimed  Merle,  as  she  came  from  the  piano  with 
outstretched  hands. 

He  took  them  both  in  his  own,  and  bestowed 
on  her  a  grave  but  kindly  smile.  He  also  nodded 


132       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

to  Grace,  who  had  dropped  her  book  and  risen 
in  courteous  greeting. 

"But  you  look  sad  and  serious,"  Merle  went 
on,  with  quick  intuition  that  his  coming  at  this 
late  hour  meant  something  more  than  a  mere 
neighborly  visit. 

"Something  sad  and  serious  has  happened," 
he  replied. 

Mrs.  Darlington  had  advanced  from  her  lamp- 
lit  table. 

"What?"  she  enquired  eagerly.  "Somehow  I 
had  a  sense  of  impending  trouble  all  day  long." 

"Young  Thurston  of  the  rancho  has  met  with 
an  accident." 

"Dead?"  gasped  Merle,  her  hands  clasped 
against  her  bosom. 

"Yes,  dead,  I  am  afraid.  He  was  mysteriously 
shot  this  afternoon  when  riding  through  the  pine 
woods." 

Merle  was  stricken  dumb.  Grace  glided  to  her 
side  and  listened  in  silent  expectancy. 

"Shot!    By  whom?"  asked  Mrs.  Darlington. 

"That  I  cannot  tell,"  gravely  replied  Robles. 
Then  he  smiled  faintly.  "But  an  amazingly 
stupid  blunder  has  been  made.  By  some  com 
bination  of  circumstances  suspicion  is  being 
fastened  on  our  dear  friend  Dick  Willoughby." 


ENTANGLEMENTS  133 

"Dick!"  exclaimed  Merle.  "Who  dares  to 
suggest  such  a  thing?"  she  added  indignantly. 

"I  infer  that  Mr.  Thurston  is  his  accuser," 
replied  Robles. 

"The  two  young  men  quarreled,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Darlington,  in  a  voice  of  deep  agitation. 

"Mother!"  cried  Merle  reprovingly.  "Even 
to  think  for  one  moment  that  Dick,  what 
ever  the  provocation,  could  have  done  such  a 
thing!  He  is  absolutely  innocent,  Mr.  Robles," 
she  went  on  decisively,  again  turning  to  their 
visitor. 

"Of  course  he  is  innocent — absolutely  innocent. 
No  one  knows  that  better  than  myself."  And  he 
gave  an  enigmatic  smile  as  he  spoke  the  words 
of  reassuring  confidence. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Willoughby  now?"  queried 
Grace. 

"He  has  been  compelled  to  go  to  Bakersfield." 

"To  Bakersfield?"  exclaimed  Merle,  half  won- 
deringly. 

"There  to  prove  his  innocence,"  replied  Robles. 

But  Mrs.  Darlington  had  probed  the  real  sig 
nificance  of  his  words. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  they  have — 
arrested  him?" 

Robles  nodded  gravely.     "That's  how  the  law 


134      A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

acts.  A  man  under  suspicion  must  be  taken  into 
custody — he  must  be  charged  so  that  he  can 
refute  the  shameful  calumny." 

Merle  had  dropped  into  a  settee — white  and 
speechless.  Her  lips  trembled.  Then  she  burst 
into  a  passion  of  weeping,  burying  her  face  against 
an  arm  flung  across  the  upholstery. 

Mrs.  Darlington  moved  forward  quickly  to 
comfort  the  sobbing  girl. 

"Oh,  don't  take  on  like  this,  my  dear  child. 
The  arrest  was  a  mere  formality.  He  will  be 
immediately  set  at  liberty." 

Merle  raised  her  tear-stained  face.  She  spoke 
in  gulping  sobs. 

"But,  mother,  I  never  told  you — I  shrank  from 
telling  any  of  you.  While  you  and  Grace  were 
away  this  afternoon,  Marshall  Thurston  called 
and  wanted  to  make  love  to  me — he  even  dared 
to  try  to  kiss  me.  Tia  Teresa  flung  him  out  of 
the  rose  garden.  It  was  I  who  made  Tia  Teresa 
promise  to  say  nothing  about  it  to  anyone.  I 
feared  trouble.  And,  oh,  trouble,  terrible  trouble, 
has  already  come."  Again  she  bowed  her  head 
and  continued  weeping,  but  quietly  weeping  now. 
Grace  was  bending  over  her,  patting  her  shoulder 
in  soothing  sympathy. 

Mrs.  Darlington's  eyes  met  those  of  Robles. 


ENTANGLEMENTS  135 

"This  may  prove  serious,"  she  said  softly,  that 
Merle  might  not  overhear. 

"It  is  decidedly  unfortunate,"  replied  Robles; 
"an  unfortunate  complication  that  may,  of 
course,  strengthen  the  suspicion  against  Wil- 
loughby  and  so  render  it  more  difficult  for  us  to 
help  him." 

Merle  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  with  a  hand 
dashed  away  her  tears. 

"Suspicion!"  she  exclaimed.  "There  can  be 
not  one  moment's  suspicion."  And  she  gazed  up 
into  Robles'  face  in  ardent  appeal. 

"Of  course  not,  my  dear,  among  us — among 
all  those  who  know  Dick  Willoughby.  But  there 
is  the  harshly  judging  world  to  reckon  with  be 
sides.  They  may  say  that  this  discloses  a  motive 
for  the  crime." 

"However,  Merle  has  just  told  us,"  commented 
Mrs.  Darlington,  "that  only  she  and  Tia  Teresa 
know  anything  about  this  unhappy  episode  in  the 
rose  garden.  Mr.  Willoughby  has  not  been 
here  at  all  today." 

"But  I  happen  to  know  that  he  was  not  far 
away  this  afternoon — that  he  was  rounding  up 
some  cattle  in  the  near-by  canyons.  Malice  may 
suggest  that  he  was  a  witness  of  Thurston's 
insolent  behavior." 


186      A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

'"Then  we  should  all  keep  silent  on  the  subject." 

"Which  might  be  compromising  in  the  long  run, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Darlington.  Altogether  it  is  a 
difficult  situation." 

Merle  had  been  hardly  listening  to  this  conver 
sation.  She  had  been  thinking,  and  with  thinking 
had  regained  her  composure.  Her  mind  was 
quickly  made  up  as  to  the  line  of  prompt  action 
that  must  be  taken.  She  spoke  quite  calmly 
now. 

"He  is  in  prison.  You  have  not  spoken  the  word, 
Mr.  Robles,  but  I  know  the  truth  all  the  same. 
We  shall  go  to  him  tonight." 

"Not  tonight,  my  dear,"  replied  Robles,  with 
gentle  firmness.  "But  tomorrow  morning,  cer 
tainly,  I  would  suggest  that  you  drive  over  to 
Bakersfield.  He  will  appreciate  your  kindness 
in  paying  him  this  prompt  visit,  and  you  can  at 
the  same  time  convey  to  him  my  message  of 
absolute  belief  in  his  innocence." 

"You  will  not  come,  too?" 

"I  can  do  more  for  him,  Merle,  by  not  going  to 
Bakersfield  for  the  present.  Do  not  forget  that 
for  reasons  of  my  own  I  live  in  seclusion.  My 
name  must  be  mentioned  to  no  one  but  Mr. 
Willoughby.  Trust  me,  all  three  of  you,  and 
leave  me  to  work  quietly  alone  and  by  my  own 


Grace  Darlington  Carries  Lieutenant  Munson's  Letter  of 
Resignation  to  the  Postoffice  —  Page  63 


ENTANGLEMENTS  137 

methods.  There,  I  give  my  promise.  The  cap 
tive  will  be  set  free  within  a  short  time.  My 
hand  on  that,  and  you  know  that  I  never  break 
my  word." 

There  was  a  joyous  smile  of  confidence  on  his 
face  as  he  spoke  the  words.  Merle  took  the  ex 
tended  hand  gratefully,  trustfully,  and  pressed 
it  to  her  lips.  Robles  went  on: 

"My  advice  is — try  to  sleep  tonight.  Tomor 
row,  or  within  a  few  brief  tomorrows,  all  will  be 
well.  Good  night." 

Tia  Teresa  followed  him  from  the  open  door 
down  into  the  outer  hall. 

"You  heard  everything,"  he  said  as  he  paused 
to  speak  a  final  word  of  parting.  "Comfort  her, 
but  at  the  same  time  guard  our  secret  closer  than 
ever.  Not  one  hair  of  Willoughby's  head  will  be 
touched — make  her  know  that  for  certain.  And 
everything  will  come  right  in  a  very  little  time.'* 

"My  poor  little  girl,"  he  murmured  to  himself 
as  he  strode  down  the  silent  tree-shadowed  avenue. 


CHAPTER  XV 
Behind  the  Bars 

DICK  WILLOUGHBY  had  been  lodged 
in  the  county  jail  at  Bakersfield,  duly 
charged  by  Ben  Thurston  as  the  murderer 
of  his  son.  To  his  surprise,  and  indeed  to  his 
dismay,  the  prisoner  was  informed  that,  the 
•crime  alleged  being  a  capital  one,  no  bail  could 
be  accepted.  This  was  first  of  all  a  blow  to 
Willoughby's  pride.  Here  he  was  under  the 
stigma  of  imprisonment,  but  with  no  possibility 
of  redress.  It  was  not  the  loss  of  comforts,  the 
deprivation  of  personal  liberty,  the  hardships 
to  body  and  to  soul,  inseparable  from  such  re 
straint,  that  he  resented,  so  much  as  the  semi- 
conviction  of  gui]t  implied  by  the  durance  vile 
to  which  he  was  to  be  subjected,  although  abso 
lutely  innocent  of  the  deed  of  which  he  was 
accused. 

However,  after  first  chagrin  came  manly  phi 
losophy.  The  law  might  be  right  or  wrong,  wise 
or  unwise,  necessary  or  superfluous.  But  all  the 
same  it  was  the  law  of  the  state  and  had  therefore 

(138) 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  139 

to  be  obeyed.  So,  when  the  situation  was  finally 
reviewed,  it  was  Lieutenant  Munson  who,  when 
bidding  his  friend  good-night,  had  been  the  angry 
man,  fretting  and  fuming  over  such  an  abominable 
act  of  injustice,  while  the  prisoner  himself  was 
tranquilly  resigned  to  the  ordeal  through  which 
he  must  pass  and  to  which  unkind  fate  was 
subjecting  him  for  reasons  that  he  was  powerless 
to  fathom. 

"Good  night,  Ches,  old  man.  You'll  see  me 
again  in  the  morning.  It's  mighty  kind  of  you  to 
stay  in  town  all  night.  But  we  can  decide  on  the 
best  lawyer  to  employ,  and  then  you  must  hasten 
back  to  break  the  bad  news  at  La  Siesta." 

Such  had  been  Dick's  quiet  words  when  their 
colloquy  had  been  broken  up,  and  he  had  been 
ordered  to  the  retirement  of  his  prison  cell.  To 
enter  that  place  was  for  Dick  a  horrible  experi 
ence.  But  he  accepted  the  experience  calmly, 
bade  the  turnkey  a  cheerful  good-night,  and  laid 
him  down  to  sleep  on  the  narrow  mattress  resting 
upon  the  hard  bench,  at  peace  with  himself  and 
the  world,  even  with  the  bitter  enemy  who  had 
all  so  unexpectedly  appeared  on  his  path. 

Although  Munson  was  back  in  the  jail  betimes 
next  morning,  he  found  Dick  already  conferring 
with  a  lawyer — the  best  and  most  honored  in  the 


140       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

town,  as  Munson  knew  the  moment  his  name  was 
mentioned. 

"Let  me  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Bradley,"  said 
Dick,  presenting  him.  "Some  kind  friend  whose 
name  he  declines  to  reveal  for  the  present,  sent 
him  a  special  message  last  night  retaining  his 
services  for  my  defence." 

"Mrs.  Darlington,  I  bet,"  interjected  the  lieu 
tenant. 

"No,  not  Mrs.  Darlington,  let  me  assure  you," 
rejoined  the  lawyer,  "although  undoubtedly  she 
would  be  willing  to  do  the  same  thing.  But  I  am 
not  permitted  to  say  any  more." 

"And  he  has  carte  blanche  for  all  expenses," 
smiled  Dick.  "Although  I  should  not  think  there 
will  be  much  money  required  to  clear  an  innocent 
man,"  he  added. 

"Wait  till  you  see,"  said  the  lawyer  crisply. 
"We  have  to  reckon  with  a  malignant  persecutor, 
I  am  already  informed." 

"Well,  I've  got  a  bit  to  my  bank  credit,"  Dick 
replied.  "And  we'll  draw  on  that  first  before  I 
accept  the  generosity  of  an  unknown  friend.  It 
will  be  quite  a  saving  here,"  he  went  on  with  a 
humorous  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  glanced  around. 
"Free  board  and  lodging  at  the  state's  expense  for 
a  week  at  all  events." 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  141 

"Much  longer  than  that,  I  am  afraid,"  gravely 
remarked  the  lawyer.  "You  see,  Mr.  Munson, 
just  before  you  arrived  we  were  discussing  the 
decidedly  unfortunate  coincidence  that  at  the 
time  the  shooting  occurred,  Mr.  Willoughby,  by 
his  own  admission,  was  in  the  little  canyon  below 
the  scene  of  the  tragedy." 

"Rounding  up  some  cattle,"  observed  Dick. 

"Of  course.  But  all  the  same,  open  to  sus 
picion  as  being  on  the  ground,  and  indeed  being 
the  first  to  reach  the  dead  man's  side." 

"That  should  be  proof  of  innocence,"  observed 
Munson. 

"Or  may  be  taken  as  evidence  of  well-reasoned 
audacity  to  throw  accusers  off  the  trail,"  retorted 
the  attorney.  "You  see  we  have  to  look  at  every 
thing,  not  from  our  own  point  of  view,  but  from 
the  other  side.  Now  I  want  to  learn  something 
more  about  that  quarrel  between  you  and  young 
Thurston  at  the  cattle  muster." 

"He  made  an  insulting  remark  about  one  of  the 
young  ladies  from  La  Siesta,"  replied  Dick.  "I  told 
him  I  would  tan  his  hide  if  he  ever  did  it  again. 
That's  all.  But  the  last  thing  I  want  is  that  these 
ladies'  names  should  be  dragged  into  the  case." 

"But  his  remark  and  your  reproof  were  over 
heard  by  others,"  commented  the  attorney. 


142       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Oh,  yes,  by  a  bunch  of  ranch  hands." 

"Whose  evidence  will  undoubtedly  be  called 
for  the  prosecution,  necessitating,  perhaps,  the 
evidence  of  the  young  ladies  on  our  side." 

"By  God,  I  won't  stand  for  that,"  exclaimed 
Dick  hotly.  "I  can  defend  myself  without  their 
being  called  to  the  witness  stand.  Think,  Mun- 
son,  of  subjecting  Merle  or  Grace  to  any  such 
thing" — and  his  indignant  face  appealed  to  the 
lieutenant's. 

"I  saw  nothing  of  the  quarrel,"  observed 
Munson,  addressing  the  lawyer,  "although,  of 
course,  I  heard  something  about  it  later  on — not 
from  Willoughby,  however,  for  he  has  never  once 
referred  to  the  matter  in  conversation  with  me. 
But  I  say,  Dick,  old  fellow,  you  know  that  Merle 
Farnsworth  and  Grace  Darlington,  too,  will  be 
only  too  proud  and  happy  to  stand  up  for  you 
in  a  law  court  or  anywhere  else." 

"That  may  be,"  replied  Dick  gloomily,  "but  I 
don't  propose  that  they  shall  be  made  the  objects 
of  vulgar  curiosity  in  a  crowded  court-room,  or 
that  their  ears  should  ever  hear  the  vile  words 
that  fell  from  that  miserable  degenerate  who  has 
at  last  met  the  fate  he  properly  deserved." 

"Well,  it  is  a  point  that  we  shall  have  to  consider 
carefully,"  spoke  the  lawyer  as  he  rose  to  take 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  143 

his  departure.  "I  have  all  the  main  facts  of  the 
case  now,  Mr.  Willoughby.  Of  course  I  shall 
apply  formally  to  the  court  for  bail,  but  I  know 
it  is  bound  to  be  refused.  I'll  make  all  arrange 
ments  outside  for  your  comfort  here — meals,  etc., 
and  no  doubt  your  friend,  Mr.  Munson,  will  bring 
you  over  clothing,  toilet  requisites,  and  the  other 
little  things  you  will  require.  I'll  see  you  again 
later  on  today." 

The  lawyer  was  gone,  and  the  two  comrades 
were  alone  in  the  little  room,  stone-walled  and 
bare  of  furniture  except  for  a  few  chairs,  where 
the  consultation  had  been  held.  Beyond  the  open 
door  stood  a  constable,  just  out  of  earshot.  But 
he  now  took  his  stand  within  the  room. 

"Well,  Munson,  old  chap,"  said  Dick  with 
cheerful  alacrity,  "you  get  back  to  the  rancho 
in  double-quick  time.  Then-  go  on  to  La  Siesta 
and  tell  Merle  not  to  worry  on  my  account.  Tell 
her  that  I'm  bright  and  happy,  and  just  enjoying 
a  good  rest,  and  will  be  set  at  liberty  within  a 
week  or  so.  But  remember,  she  is  not  to  come 
here.  Good  Lord,  I  never  want  her  to  see  me 
in  a  place  like  this."  And  he  glanced  around 
forlornly,  and  in  a  measure  ashamed. 

But  at  the  very  moment  there  was  a  flutter 
along  the  corridor — the  sound  of  voices,  and 


144      A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

women's  voices,  too.  A  moment  later  the  super 
intendent  of  the  jail  appeared,  bringing  with 
him  Mrs.  Darlington  and  Merle.  At  the  door 
way  he  spoke  to  the  officer  on  guard;  the  man 
withdrew. 

"Mr.  Willoughby,  here  are  some  more  friends," 
said  the  superintendent  as  he  ushered  in  the 
ladies.  "I  am  going  to  interpret  the  regulations 
as  leniently  as  possible — that's  a  matter  which 
can  rest  between  ourselves.  I'll  come  back  for 
you,  Mrs.  Darlington,  in  half  an  hour." 

Merle  advanced  toward  Dick  with  outstretched 
hand.  In  her  other  hand  was  a  fine  bouquet  of 
roses. 

"What  a  shame  that  you  should  be  here,"  she 
exclaimed.  "But  I  realize  that  the  only  thing  to 
do  is  to  submit  as  cheerfully  as  possible  to  the 
inevitable.  Mother  and  I  came  over  to  give  you 
our  sympathy  and  proffer  our  help  in  every  pos 
sible  way.  Grace  also  sends  her  very  kindest 
regards,  and  I  was  bidden  by  Mr.  Robles,  whom 
we  saw  last  night,  to  assure  you  of  his  complete 
belief  in  your  innocence." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  any  real  friend  thinking 
me  capable  of  a  cowardly  deed  like  that,"  replied 
Willoughby.  "But  it  is  nice  to  have  these  kind 
messages,  although  I  could  have  wished,  Miss 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  145 

Farnsworth,  that  you  had  not  seen  me  amid  such 
surroundings." 

"Do  you  think  that  we  would  desert  you  in 
such  a  tune  of  trouble  as  this?"  replied  Merle,  as 
she  sat  down.  "But  seeing  that  our  visit  is  to  be 
restricted  to  half  an  hour,  it  is  well  that  we  should 
get  to  the  important  points  without  delay.  I  have 
been  talking  over  a  certain  matter  both  with 
mother  and  Mr.  Robles,  and  although  I  shrink 
from  telling  it,  they  have  decided  that  you  must 
know  about  the  affair." 

She  then  proceeded,  in  a  low  voice  and  with 
lips  that  trembled,  to  tell  how  young  Thurston 
had  forced  his  attentions  on  her  just  a  little  time 
before  the  shooting  occurred  and  how  Tia  Teresa 
had  rescued  her  from  his  clutches. 

This  was  the  first  that  Dick  had  heard  of  the 
incident  and  his  face  flushed  with  anger.  But 
Merle  quieted  him  at  once.  "You  need  not  be 
angry  now,  Mr.  Willoughby.  It  is  all  over.  But 
your  lawyer  will  want  to  consider  what  bearing 
this  may  possibly  have  upon  the  case." 

"It  can  have  no  bearing  at  all,"  maintained 
Dick.  "In  the  first  place  I  didn't  even  know 
till  now  that  Marshall  had  been  visiting  at  La 
Siesta.  And  in  the  second  place,  just  as  I  was 
saying  to  Munson  a  few  minutes  ago,  I  am  deter- 


146       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

mined  that  the  names  of  you  ladies  shall  not  be 
dragged  into  this  miserable  affair.  Isn't  that 
right,  Mrs.  Darlington?" 

"In  a  measure.  But  all  the  same  we  are  ready 
to  stand  by  you  so  as  to  establish  your  innocence 
with  the  least  possible  delay.  I  heard  this  morning 
that  Mr.  Thurston  is  very  bitter  against  you, 
keeps  vowing  vengeance,  and  announces  that 
no  money  will  be  spared  to  bring  the  slayer  of 
his  son  to  retribution." 

"Well,  I  hope  he'll  find  him  without  loss  of  tune," 
smiled  Dick.  "That  will  be  the  quickest  and 
easiest  way  to  get  me  out  of  confinement.  But 
at  this  moment  I  have  not  the  faintest  idea  on 
whom  to  fasten  the  charge.  Lots  of  the  cowboys 
despised  young  Thurston,  but  none  were  really 
his  enemies,  and  I  don't  know  any  one  among 
the  bunch  who  would  have  shot  him  in  that 
dastardly,  cold-blooded  manner." 

"Which  makes  the  situation  for  you  all  the 
more  disagreeable,"  commented  Munson.  "You 
had  been  known  to  threaten  him,  and  if  there  is 
no  one  else  to  whom  suspicion  can  point,  you  may 
be  kept  here,  Dick,  for  quite  a  time — for  months, 
perhaps,  until  the  case  goes  to  trial." 

Dick's  face  fell.  "For  months!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Surely  that  would  be  an  outrage." 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  147 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  be  too  despondent,"  protested 
Merle.  "Besides,  Mr.  Robles  has  pledged  his 
word  to  me  that  you  will  be  free  in  a  very  brief 
time." 

"Then  he  may  know  who  the  culprit  is," 
remarked  Dick  eagerly. 

"No,"  interposed  Mrs.  Darlington.  "He  is 
like  ourselves — quite  in  the  dark.  But  you  may 
rest  assured  that  Mr.  Robles  will  leave  no  stone 
unturned  to  solve  the  mystery  and  restore  you 
to  liberty,  Mr.  Willoughby,  for  I  happen  to  know 
that  he  holds  you  in  highest  esteem." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  replied  Dick.  "Well,  I 
want  you  to  tell  him  from  me  how  keen  I  am  that 
you  ladies  shall  be  spared  from  all  association 
with  this  case.  You  know  that  I  am  exercising 
great  self-denial,  Miss  Farnsworth,  when  I  say 
that  you  are  never  to  come  here  again.  This  is 
no  place  for  you." 

"Pardon  me,"  laughed  Merle,  "but  we  are 
interested  in  you  and  will  excuse  the  hotel  you 
have  chosen  to  patronize.  We  brought  these 
roses  for  you  from  La  Siesta" — as  she  spoke  she 
presented  him  with  the  beautiful  blooms — "and  if 
Lieutenant  Munson  will  be  kind  enough  to  come 
out  to  our  automobile  he  will  find  there  some 
books,  also  a  box  of  fruit  and  a  few  delicacies 


148       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

which  we  hope  will  help  to  make  your  stay  here 
just  a  little  more  tolerable." 

"You're  kind  indeed,"  murmured  Dick  grate 
fully.  "Don't  worry  about  me,"  he  added  cheer 
fully,  "I'll  have  a  fine  rest  here,  and  will  be  able 
to  catch  up  with  my  arrears  of  reading." 

And  in  this  philosophic  frame  of  mind  the 
prisoner  was  left  to  begin  his  holiday. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
Pierre  Luzon  Returns 

IN  the  outside  world  the  question  on  every 
body's  lips  was — who  had  fired  the  fatal  shot 
among  the  pine  woods?  The  young  reprobate 
had  been  thoroughly  despised,  but  he  had  no  known 
enemies  except  Willoughby.  So  while  Willoughby's 
staunch  friends  could  only  reiterate  the  question 
in  vain  perplexity,  most  people  were  inclined  to 
answer  it  with  Dick's  name.  The  angry  quarrel 
between  the  two  young  men  was  universally 
known  and  had  been  subjected  to  sundry  embellish 
ments — for  example,  the  threatened  horse-whip 
ping  had  become  an  actual  recorded  event,  and 
so  on.  And  even  there  were  whispers  about 
rivalry  in  some  love  affair — that  Marshall  had  had 
his  eye  on  one  of  the  young  ladies  at  La  Siesta 
where  Dick  for  some  time  had  been  a  constant 
caller. 

So  among  the  cowboys  on  the  ranch,  the  oil 
drillers  who  frequented  the  Bakersfield  saloons 
and  had  often  enough  stood  around  while  young 
Thurston  had  set  up  the  drinks,  the  newspaper- 

(149) 


150       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

reading  public  generally  for  whom  all  the  facts 
had  been  set  forth  in  elaborate  detail — the  uni 
versal  concensus  of  opinion  seemed  to  be  that  Dick 
Willoughby  was  the  man.  Not  that  this  verdict 
of  popular  opinion  carried  with  it  any  real  repro 
bation.  Everyone  agreed  that  the  worthless 
degenerate  had  met  even  a  kindlier  fate  than  he 
merited.  Had  he  lived,  not  all  his  father's 
millions  could  have  long  saved  him  either  from 
the  penitentiary  or  an  asylum  for  the  insane. 

A  week  passed.  Thurston  brooded  hi  solitude, 
but  at  his  bidding  Leach  Sharkey  kept  up  active 
investigations  with  a  view  to  nose  out  every  bit 
of  evidence  that  could  tell  against  the  accused 
man.  Sharkey  worked,  not  from  any  special 
animosity  against  Willoughby,  but  from  keen 
professional  pride. 

Dick  accepted  his  confinement  with  manly 
fortitude.  It  was  one  of  those  untoward  happen 
ings  that  come  into  some  people's  lives  for  no 
obvious  reason,  but  he  was  calm  in  the  confidence 
that  everything  would  be  made  clear  in  a'  very 
short  time. 

Moreover  he  was  clear  to  his  own  conscience, 
which  was  the  main  thing.  Next  in  importance 
was  that  Merle,  Grace  and  Mrs.  Darlington, 
Robles  and  Munson,  all  the  friends  whom  he  held 


PIERRE  LUZON  RETURNS  151 

in  highest  esteem,  had  never  for  one  moment 
doubted  him.  In  their  unshaken  friendship  was 
sufficient  reward  for  all  the  tribulations  through 
which  he  was  passing. 

Meanwhile  word  had  reached  Buck  Ashley 
that  old  Tom  Baker  was  on  his  way  home  in  com 
pany  with  Pierre  Luzon,  to  whom  the  Governor 
of  the  State  had  at  last  granted  parole.  In  view 
of  Dick's  imprisonment  Munson  had  well-nigh 
lost  all  interest  in  the  romance  of  the  buried 
treasure.  But  it  had  been  Dick  himself  who  had 
insisted  that  his  friend  must  attend  to  their  joint 
interests  during  his  period  of  enforced  seques 
tration. 

Thus  it  had  come  about  that  Munson  found 
himself  one  evening  at  the  store,  awaiting  with 
Jack  Rover  and  Buck  Ashley  the  arrival  of  the 
automobile  in  which  the  sheriff  was  bringing  the 
liberated  convict  from  San  Quentin.  In  a  brief 
letter  Tom  Baker  had  explained  that  he  had 
decided  on  this  manner  of  transportation  both 
because  of  its  ensuring  privacy  and  also  because 
Pierre  Luzon  was  so  enfeebled  by  age,  sickness 
and  prolonged  confinement  that  he  could  not 
travel  by  train.  "I've  rigged  up  a  stretcher," 
wrote  Tom,  "but  the  poor  old  Frenchie  is  as  weak 
as  a  kitten,  and  we'll  have  to  run  slow." 


152       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Nine  o'clock  that  night  was  the  scheduled 
hour  around  which  the  automobile  might  be 
expected.  Buck  Ashley  had  the  extra  cot  for  the 
invalid  all  ready  in  his  own  bedroom  at  the  rear 
of  the  store. 

It  was  close  on  ten  o'clock,  however,  before  the 
headlight  of  the  automobile  showed  across  the 
valley  on  the  high-road.  Buck  piled  another  big 
log  on  the  fire  in  the  sitting  room.  He  saw  that 
the  doors  were  all  carefully  closed  and  the  shades 
pulled  down.  Then  he  brought  in  from  the  bar 
a  tray  with  glasses  and  a  bottle  of  whisky. 

"Kentucky  bourbon — that  was  old  Pierre 
Luzon's  favorite  lotion,"  he  said  as  he  set  down 
the  tray.  "And  I  guess  he'll  be  glad  of  a  good 
stiff  drink  on  a  cold  night  like  this." 

At  last  the  automobile  entered  the  yard,  and 
the  invalid  was  carried  in  on  the  stretcher  and 
propped  up  comfortably  in  a  rocking  chair  near 
the  cheerful  blaze.  His  teeth  were  chattering 
from  cold,  and  he  gratefully  gulped  down  the 
stiff  glass  of  bourbon  which  Buck  lost  no  time  in 
proffering  him. 

"You  see,"  explained  Tom  Baker,  as  he  bustled 
around,  "the  Governor  just  grants  paroles;  he 
can't  grant  pardons.  Some  sort  of  a  board  has 
to  pass  on  the  pardons.  But  I  got  him  out  all 


PIERRE  LUZON  RETURNS          153 

right,  and  that's  the  main  thing.  Eh,  Pierre, 
old  man?" 

The  sheriff  nodded  with  great  friendliness  to 
his  protege.  Luzon  responded  with  a  wan  smile 
that  silently  spoke  his  thankfulness.  His  face  was 
deathly  pale,  but  there  was  wonderful  snap  and 
vitality  in  the  black  bead-like  eyes  that  roamed 
around  the  room  and  searched  each  countenance. 

Buck  was  now  standing  by  the  rocker.  He 
laid  a  hand  familiarly  on  the  Frenchman's 
shoulder. 

"You  see,  Pierre,  old  scout,  I  don't  forget 
you" — he  pointed  to  the  bottle  on  the  table. 
"Kentucky  bourbon,  the  best  I've  got  in  the 
house,  and  the  very  label  you  used  to  call  for. 
Now  we've  got  to  drink  to  your  speedy  recovery. 
Fill  up  all  round,  boys.  The  drinks  are  on  me 
tonight." 

"Hip,  hip,  hooray!"  shouted  Tom,  as  the  glasses 
tinkled. 

"Hush!"  exclaimed  Buck,  warningly.  "We 
don't  want  to  bring  any  booze  fighters  prowlin' 
around  here  tonight.  You  see,  Pierre,  we  four  are 
in  cahoots  and  understand  each  other.  You 
know  Tom  and  myself — we  ain't  in  need  of  any 
guarantee.  And  you  can  trust  Mr.  Chester 
Munson  and  Jack  Rover  here  to  the  limit." 


154       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Luzon  bowed  acknowledgment  ofj  the  informal 
introduction. 

"It  was  we  who  put  up  the  cash  to  get  you  out 
of  San  Quentin,"  continued  Buck,  as  he  dropped 
into  a  chair  close  beside  Tom  Baker. 

"Together  with  Dick  Willoughby,"  interjected 
Munson. 

"Oh,  yes,  not  forgettin'  Dick,"  resumed  the 
storekeeper,  "as  fine  a  young  feller  as  ever  walked 
on  shoe  leather.  But,  by  God,  he's  in  jail  just 
now." 

"Eh?"  ejaculated  the  ex-convict,  with  a  look  of 
awakening,  almost  fraternal,  interest. 

Buck  turned  to  the  sheriff. 

"Of  course,  Tom,  you'll  have  read  all  about 
that  terrible  affair  in  the  newspapers?" 

The  sheriff  surreptitiously  grabbed  Buck's 
arm.  He  spoke  in  a  confidential  whisper. 

"Drop  that  subject  for  the  present.  I've  said 
nothin'  about  it  to  old  Pierre  in  case  it  might 
upset  him.  I  ain't  dared  to  mention  the  name 
Thurston  to  him,  for  he  shared  the  White  Wolf's 
hatred  of  the  breed."  Then  Tom  gave  a  little 
cough  and  glanced  across  the  fireplace  at  the 
Frenchman.  "Just  a  little  cowboy  shootin'  scrap, 
Pierre,  in  which  our  chum  Dick  Willoughby  has 
got  himself  temporarily  involved.  But  say, 


PIERRE  LUZON  RETURNS          155 

boys,"  he  went  on,  casting  his  eyes  toward  Munson 
and  Rover,  "I  just  thanked  the  Lord  it  wasn't  me 
as. had  to  arrest  Dick.  Of  course  if  I  had  still 
been  sheriff  I'd  a  done  it — when  I  was  a  sworn-in 
officer,  duty  was  duty  all  the  time  with  me,  as 
every  damned  horse-thief  within  a  hundred  miles 
knows.  But  to  take  an  honest  man  into  custody 
for  shootin*  a  miserable  human  coyote  like  that 
young  — " 

"Well,  we're  not  a-goin'  to  speak  about  him  just 
now,"  interrupted  Buck,  bestowing  a  cautioning 
kick  on  the  sheriff's  shins. 

Tom  took  the  timely  reminder. 

"That  would  have  gone  sore  against  the  gram," 
he  said  emphatically,  as  he  reached  for  the  whisky 
bottle  and  replenished  his  tumbler. 

"Glad  to  be  back?"  asked  Buck,  beaming 
pleasantly  on  old  Pierre. 

The  Frenchman  lifted  one  thin  hand  and 
smiled. 

"Here  I  will  become  once  more  strong,"  he 
murmured.  "No  place  in  ze  world  like  ze  dear  old 
Tehachapi  mountains." 

"Wai,  I  see  you've  begun  to  let  your  beard 
grow  again,"  continued  Buck,  pointing  to  the 
gray  stubbled  chin.  "And  when  your  hair  comes 
along,  too,  you'll  just  be  lookin'  fine  and  dandy. 


156       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

The  same  old  Pierre  that  used  to  sit  for  hours 
at  a  time  in  the  store." 

He  paused  a  moment,  surveying  the  visitor. 

"A  leetle  more  whisky,  please,"  murmured 
Pierre,  as  he  watched  the  sheriff  lay  down  his 
glass. 

"All  the  whisky  you  want,  old  fellow,"  exclaimed 
Buck,  with  effusive  hospitality.  "By  gunnies, 
you're  entitled  to  a  good  few  nips  after  all  the 
long  years  you've  been  locked  up.  Ain't  that 
so,  boys?" 

"I  should  say,"  declared  Tom,  fervently, 
wiping  his  lips  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

The  Frenchman  drank  gratefully,  and  as  he 
felt  the  warm  alcoholic  glow  in  his  vitals,  uttered 
a  deep-drawn  "Ah!"  of  appreciation. 

"Tastes  good,  don't  it?"  observed  Buck.  "You 
never  turned  down  a  drink  of  good  whisky  in  the 
old  days,  did  you,  Pierre?  Great  times  then! 
And  gosh  almighty,  don't  it  beat  hell,  I  never 
suspected  who  you  were  all  those  years  you  used 
to  sit  around  the  store  smokin'  that  big-bowled 
pipe  of  yourn?  And  you  knew  about  the  cave 
then?" 

"Oh,  Pierre  Luzon,  he  know  how  to  keep  one 
secret,"  responded  the  Frenchman,  smiling. 
"Yes,  and  good  for  us  all  you  kept  it,  old  man," 


PIERRE  LUZON  RETURNS          157 

exclaimed  the  sheriff.  "He's  a-goin'  to  show  us 
the  cave  tomorrow,  Buck.  There  will  be  six  in  the 
divvy-up  now,  boys,  for  of  course  Pierre  Luzon 
stands  in.  That's  agreeable  all  round,  fellers?" 

"Sure,  sure,"  responded  the  others  in  unison. 

Tom  turned  to  the  Frenchman. 

"I  told  you,  Pierre,  we'd  play  the  game  fair 
and  square  with  you.  Ain't  that  right?" 

"I  trust  you  all,"  replied  Luzon.  "I  show  ze 
cave  tomorrow  to  my  friend,  Tom  Baker,  and  you 
gentlemen  who  have  been  so  kind  to  make  up  one 
purse  to  bring  me  back  here  from  zat  horrid 
prison." 

"Guess  you're  about  the  only  feller  that  knows 
where  it  is?"  enquired  Buck,  cautiously. 

Luzon  looked  at  his  questioner  and  spoke  just 
one  word:  "Guadalupe." 

"Does  Gaudalupe  know?"  exclaimed  Jack 
Rover.  "I  thought  her  long  suit  was  the  riffle 
where  she  gets  her  placer  gold." 

"Guadalupe,"  answered  Pierre,  speaking  slowly, 
"she  know  ze  cave,  but  she  not  know  where  ze 
treasure  is  buried.  Ze  cave  her  home.  She  live 
zere.  Lots  and  lots  of  times  she  come  out,  and 
nobody  ever  track  her  when  she  go  back.  Ze 
outlaws  they  sharp-shoot  from  places  in  ze  hills 
nobody  could  see.  But  I  show  you,"  he  continued, 


158     A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

nodding  his  head  at  Jack  Rover,  "I,  Pierre,  show 
you  where  zat  riffle  is.  I  know  both  where 
Guadalupe  wash  out  placer  gold  and  ze  secret 
chamber  in  ze  big  cave  where  Joaquin  Murietta 
bury  him  money  and  where  ze  White  Wolf,  Don 
Manuel — peace  to  his  soul !" — Pierre  Luzon  crossed 
himself — "hide  sacks  and  sacks  of  ze  yellow  gold. 
Oh,  yes!" 

This  long  speech  had  exhausted  the  old  man. 
He  dropped  his  head  wearily. 

"What  you  need  now  is  a  good  long  sleep,*' 
exclaimed  Tom  Baker.  "Another  jolt  of  bourbon 
Pierre,  and  then  you  get  in  between  the  blankets, 
old  fellow." 

"I've  got  your  bed  all  ready  in  the  next  room," 
observed  Buck. 

"I  guess  I  go  to  bed  zen,"  assented  Luzon. 

He  gulped  down  with  relish  a  nightcap  of  the 
old  whisky.  Then  Buck  and  Tom  helped  him  from 
his  chair. 

"It  is  good  to  be  here,"  murmured  the  French 
man.  "I  grow  strong  again  among  ze  mountains. 
I  never  go  back — never  go  back  to  San  Quentin, 
that  one  horrid  prison." 

"We'll  nurse  you  like  a  baby,"  said  Buck 
assuringly,  as  he  led  the  feeble  old  man  into  the 
adjoining  room. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
The  Biter  Bit 

ON  the  very  night  of  Pierre  Luzon's  return, 
Ben  Thurston  was  in  close  colloquy  with 
his  attorney,  summoned  specially  from 
New  York.  It  was  not  only  the  murder  of  his 
son  that  had  brought  about  this  consultation. 
The  owner  of  San  Antonio  Rancho,  while  filled 
with  fury  against  Dick  Willoughby,  was  also 
gravely  perturbed  over  other  things.  Imme 
diately  after  dinner  the  two  men  shut  themselves 
up  in  Thurston's  office. 

Thurston  opened  the  safe  and  produced  a  little 
bundle  of  neatly-folded,  legal-looking  documents. 

"These  are  the  option  papers,"  he  said  gruffly, 
as  he  tossed  them  across  the  table  to  the  lawyer. 
"Look  them  over,  Mr.  Hawkins." 

The  attorney  glanced  through  the  documents 
in  a  preliminary  way. 

"I  see  the  first  big  payment  falls  due  on  April 
1st,"  he  remarked. 

"Yes,  April  1st,"  responded  Thurston,  "and  I 
was  a  damned  fool,  too,  to  let  that  Trust  Company 

(159) 


160       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

fellow  inveigle  me  into  making  the  date  April  1st, 
instead  of  March  1st.  You  see,"  he  went  on, 
"the  taxes  come  due  on  March  1st,  and  on  this 
principality  they  amount  to  quite  a  pretty  figure, 
I  can  tell  you." 

"How  much?" 

"Oh,  about  $18,000." 

The  lawyer  again  read  the  papers  through,  this 
time  more  carefully. 

"Well,  Mr.  Thurston,"  he  said,  as  he  lighted  a 
cigar  and  sat  back  in  his  chair,  "I  left  some  very 
important  matters  to  come  to  you  in  answer  to 
your  imperative  message.  What's  the  work  in 
hand?" 

"Why,  this  option  for  one  thing;  and  then,  too, 
Iwant  you  to  help  me  put  the  noose  around  the 
neck  of  that  scoundrel  who  killed  my  son." 

"We'll  take  one  thing  at  a  time,  please,"  replied 
the  attorney,  speaking  slowly  and  quietly.  "So 
far  as  this  option  on  the  rancho  is  concerned,  it 
seems  to  be  quite  regular.  Nevertheless,  five 
million  dollars  is  a  whole  lot  of  money.  Is  there 
any  danger  of  their  forfeiting  their  option  pay 
ment  of  $100,000?" 

"Danger?  Forfeiting?"  ejaculated  Ben  Thurs 
ton.  "Well,  I'm  not  at  all  afraid  of  that.  My 
fear  now  is  that  they  may  take  up  the  option." 


THE  BITER  BIT  161 

"Why,  didn't  you  wish  to  make  the  sale?" 

"Yes,  but  I  am  not  getting  money  enough. 
The  ranch  is  really  worth  ten  million  dollars  today, 
in  cold  cash.  I  have  recently  had  some  San  Fran 
cisco  capitalists  down  here  appraising  it  for  me, 
but  I  had  already  given  the  option." 

"I  see  that  the  agreement  provides  for  your 
cattle  and  horses  going  in  at  the  stipulated  price." 

"Yes,  I  don't  know  why  I  should  have  been  so 
infernally  stupid.  But  you  see  those  Los  Angeles 
fellows  came  over  here  one  day  in  an  automobile 
and  stayed  all  night.  We  had  a  sort  of  a  tiff — 
didn't  agree  very  well — and  I  let  them  start  away 
the  next  morning  without  their  breakfast — rather 
uncivil.  I'll  admit.  After  they  had  gone  I  got  to 
thinking  matters  over,  and  I  sent  a  telephone 
message  along  the  road  to  stop  them  and  ask 
them  to  come  back.  They  returned  all  right. 
There  was  one  of  their  number,  this  fellow  from 
some  Title  and  Trust  Company,  who  was  pretty 
warm  under  the  collar,  and,  if  I  do  say  it  myself, 
was  as  peeved  as  hell  at  me.  Well,  he  was  the 
one  who  drew  up  the  agreement,  sitting  here  at 
this  table.  The  paper  looked  all  right  to  me,  and 
so  I  just  went  ahead  and  signed.  I  know  now 
they  caught  me  for  the  $18,000  of  taxes  because 
I  didn't  just  insist  on  having  the  option  expire 


162       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

March  1st,  instead  of  April  1st.  But,  to  be  frank 
with  you,  I  really  didn't  much  mind,  for  at  that 
tune  I  was  only  keen  to  get  their  $100,000  for  the 
option,  never  believing  for  a  moment  that  they 
would  come  across  with  the  million-dollar  first 
payment  due  April  1st.  You  see  the  cattle  and 
horses  and  all  the  stock  on  the  ranch  was  a  sort 
of  sheaf  of  oats  that  I  hung  out  in  order  to  get 
them  to  put  up  their  option  money — just  so  much 
bait." 

Mr.  Hawkins  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said: 
"Well,  Mr.  Thurston,  judging  from  this  inventory 
before  me,  you  certainly  hung  up  a  most  generous 
bait." 

"I  didn't  stop  to  think — that's  all  there  is  to 
be  said.  All  these  details  hadn't  been  worked 
out  into  cold  figures  at  the  time  I  gave  the  option. 
When  these  men  were  here  I  just  wanted  to  wheedle 
them  into  a  bargain  which  would  leave  a  cool 
$100,000  in  my  hands.  I  never  for  one  moment 
believed  they  could  make  the  million-dollar  pay 
ment,  although,  by  God,  I  begin  to  realize  the 
danger  of  their  doing  so  now." 

The  lawyer  looked  up  in  silent  surprise.  Thurs 
ton  continued: 

"Of  course  I  should  have  had  this  detailed 
valuation  made  before  I  went  into  the  deal.  Up 


THE  BITER  BIT  163    ' 

to  the  time  I  read  that  inventory  I  had  no  real 
idea  of  the  increased  value  of  the  property  and 
what  was  on  it.  Oh,  you  may  shake  your  head; 
I'm  not  a  good  business  man — never  cared  a 
damn  for  business — and  I  know  quite  well  I  haven't 
given  enough  attention  to  the  ranch.  You  see  I 
have  been  living  mostly  in  the  East,  for  good 
reasons.  I  don't  like  it  here  at  all — I've  never 
felt  safe  in  California,"  and  he  glanced  nervously 
at  the  window  of  the  room,  as  if  some  enemy  were 
lurking  there. 

Mr.  Hawkins  once  more  reached  for  the  inven 
tory,  and  carefully  examined  the  figures.  Finally 
he  said:  "Pardon  me,  Mr.  Thurston,  for  the 
observation.  But  you  should  have  sent  for  me 
before  the  option  was  signed,  if  you  did  not  really 
intend  to  carry  out  its  terms.  I  find  that  you  have 
twenty-six  thousand  head  of  cattle,  and  you  say 
that  the  price  of  cattle  is  very  high  just  now — 
that  the  whole  herd  ought  to  average  forty  dollars 
a  head.  This  item  alone  makes  one  million  and 
forty  thousand  dollars,  or,  in  other  words,  if  they 
exercise  the  option  and  pay  you  the  first  million 
dollars,  they  will  have  forty  thousand  dollars 
more  than  the  payment  which  they  make  at 
that  time."  The  lawyer  pencilled  down  the  figures 
while  he  spoke. 


164       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Ben  Thurston  had  been  listening  with  a  gloomy 
look  on  his  brow.  But  when  he  saw  the  figures 
translated  into  dollars  he  fairly  bounced  from  his 
chair,  walked  rapidly  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
then,  coming  to  a  sudden  halt,  shouted:  "By 
God,  that's  where  they  got  me  again.  I  see  it  all 
now;  these  fellows  were  a  damned  sight  too  smart 
for  me.  Well,  Hawkins,  you  are  my  attorney. 
I  don't  want  to  go  on  with  this  deal,  even  if  they 
are  able  to  dig  up  the  money." 

The  lawyer  puffed  at  his  cigar,  wholly  undis 
turbed,  and  then  replied:  "Mr.  Thurston,  you 
have  already  made  a  sale." 

"No,  by  God,  I  haven't;  nothing  of  the  kind," 
replied  Thurston.  "The  truth  is  that  I  should 
get  ten  million  dollars  for  this  ranch,  and  keep 
all  my  horses  and  cattle,  too.  I  don't  propose 
to  be  fleeced  by  that  Los  Angeles  outfit  either,"  he 
continued,  running  his  hands  through  his  hair. 
"I  have  it;  we'll  break  the  contract.  I'll  bet  that 
option  is  so  faulty  that  you  can  drive  a  load  of 
hay  right  through  it.  Hunt  up  a  flaw  and  we 
will  send  them  back  their  option  money.  I  don't 
want  their  $100,000  now." 

"I  have  already  carefully  studied  the  paper," 
replied  Hawkins,  "and  can  find  no  flaw  in  it.  It 
was  evidently  drawn  by  a  master  hand." 


THE  BITER  BIT  165 

"Master  hand  be  damned,"  thundered  Thurston. 
"Why,  the  stiff  wasn't  even  a  lawyer.  He  was 
just  one  of  the  syndicate — the  one  I  told  you 
about  a  while  back.  He  knows  so  cussed  much 
about  titles  that  the  other  fellows  let  him  write 
the  option." 

"I  see,"  replied  the  attorney,  as  a  half -smile 
flitted  over  his  face;  "about  all  you  seemingly 
had  to  do  was  to  sign  the  option  papers  and 
count  the  option  money.  The  sole  hope  you  have 
now,  Mr.  Thurston,  in  my  opinion,  is  for  those 
Los  Angeles  gentlemen  to  let  this  valuable  option 
lapse.  You  have  only  a  few  days  to  wait." 

"But  I  haven't  told  you  the  worst  yet,"  said 
Thurston  sullenly,  dropping  again  into  his  chair. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  had  a  long-distance  telephone  this  morning 
from  the  First  National  Bank  at  Los  Angeles 
saying  that  the  million  dollars  due  April  1st  has 
been  already  paid  in  to  my  credit.  But  I  won't 
touch  the  money — I'll  be  damned  if  I  do." 

"You  have  no  choice  but  to  accept  it,"  said  the 
lawyer.  "It  would  be  foolish  to  deceive  yourself; 
San  Antonio  Rancho  is  sold,  and  with  the  pay 
ment  just  made,  you,  by  the  terms  of  your  con 
tract,  are  compelled  to  give  immediate  possession. 
I  can  only  advise  you  to  take  your  medicine  like  a 


166       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

man,  but  don't  let  those  Los  Angeles  gentlemen 
know  that  you  are  swallowing  a  bitter  dose." 
He  refolded  the  papers,  and  pushed  them  across 
the  table.  "Now,  Mr.  Thurston,  if  there  is  any 
thing  I  can  do  to  assist  you  in  the  prosecution  of 
your  son's  murderer,  I  stand  ready  to  do  so." 

Ben  Thurston  arose. 

"We'll  talk  about  that  tomorrow.  I'll  hang 
Dick  Willoughby  right  enough  in  good  tune. 
Meanwhile  you  tell  me  the  rancho'is  sold — that 
I  have  lost  my  great  estate  for  less  than  half  its 
value?  Hell!  Isn't  that  enough  for  one  night?" 

And  he  stalked  wrathfully  out  of  the  room, 
slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

"He  sold  at  the  wrong  price,"  mused  the  lawyer 
with  a  quiet  smile.  "Perhaps  he'll  be  trying  next 
to  hang  the  wrong  man." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
Elusive  Riches 

IN  the  meantime  the  quartet  at  the  store  were 
making  a  night  of  it.  With  old  Pierre  Luzon 
peacefully  asleep  in  the  adjoining  room,  there 
were  many  things  to  speak  about.  Tom  Baker 
recounted  in  elaborate  detail  his  story  of  inter 
views  with  the  governor  and  state  officials  at 
Sacramento,  the  weary  and  harassing  delays 
before  parole  was  finally  granted,  his  own  dogged 
determination,  together  with  the  artful  pulling  of 
political  strings  that  had  finally  brought  about 
the  results  desired.  Then  there  was  the  trip  to 
San  Quentin,  the  breaking  of  the  joyful  news  to 
Pierre  Luzon  in  his  cell,  the  delivery  of  the  paroled 
convict  into  Tom's  hands,  and  the  clever  solution 
of  all  further  difficulties  by  hiring  an  automobile 
for  the  journey  south.  The  narrative  was  all  very 
interesting,  each  listener  eagerly  followed  every 
word,  and  at  the  close  Tom  Baker's  chest  had 
expanded  several  inches. 

"I  tell  you  boys,  there's  no  man  alive  could 
have  done  what  I  did.     The  business  was  in  the 

(167) 


168       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

right  hands.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  you 
wouldn't  have  Pierre  Luzon  here  tonight." 

"But  if  Pierre  Luzon  hadn't  written  that  letter," 
growled  Buck  Ashley,  "you  would  never  have 
started  for  Sacramento  and  San  Quentin." 

"Well,  all's  well  that  ends  well,"  discreetly 
interposed  Munson,  as  he  raked  the  smouldering 
wood  ashes  together.  "Gee,  but  its  cold  tonight." 

Jack  Rover  rose  and  tossed  another  log  onto 
the  fire.  In  a  moment  a  bright  flame  sprang  up. 

"The  bottle's  empty,"  observed  the  sheriff. 
"The  next  one's  on  me,  Buck." 

"Guess  we'll  charge  it  to  syndicate  account," 
grinned  the  storekeeper,  whose  momentary  grouch 
seemed  to  have  been  dissipated  by  the  cheerful 
blaze.  "We'll  have  to  open  books,  boys,  and  go 
about  things  in  a  reg'lar  way,"  he  added,  as  he 
drew  the  bolt  of  the  door  that  communicated  with 
the  store  and  groped  his  way  into  the  darkness 
beyond. 

Buck  needed  no  candle,  and  was  soon  back  with 
another  bottle  of  the  Kentucky  bourbon.  Glasses 
were  filled  and  clinked  and  pledges  of  brotherhood 
renewed. 

"It's  champagne  we'll  be  drinkin'  tomorrow 
night,  Buck,  old  sport,"  exclaimed  Tom,  slapping 
his  old  crony  on  the  shoulder. 


ELUSIVE  RICHES  169 

"I'll  long-distance  Bakersfield  for  a  case  in  the 
morning,"  responded  Buck,  genially.  "By  gosh, 
we'll  be  swimmin'  in  wine  afore  long,  boys.  First 
thing  I've  got  to  do  is  to  sell  out  this  'ere  store." 

"Sell  it!"  cried  the  sheriff,  contemptuously. 
"You  can  afford  to  give  it  away,  Buck.  We 
ain't  a-goin'  to  be  pikers  in  our  old  age,  are  we 
now?" 

"I  ain't  old  by  a  danged  sight,"  snapped  back 
the  storekeeper,  for  Tom  had  touched  a  sore  spot 
once  again.  "Besides,  when  I've  got  a  barrel  of 
Joaquin  Murietta's  gold  safe  in  the  bank,  you'll 
see  me  friskin'  around  like  a  two-year-old  colt," 
he  added,  his  momentary  surliness  changing  to  a 
smile. 

"And  it  ain't  only  gold,  boys,"  said  Tom 
Baker.  "That  'ere  story  old  Pierre  told  me  about 
the  grotto  cavern  havin'  a  lake  of  oil  in  it  as  big 
as  a  city  block,  sure  'nuff  got  me  goin'.  Why, 
we'll  be  able  to  blossom  out  into  oil  kings." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Munson. 

"Why,  the  Frenchie  told  me,  you  know,  confi 
dential  like,  comin'  along  on  our  motor  car  that 
since  fifty  years  back  those  bandit  fellers  skimmed 
oil  from  the  surface  of  that  lake  and  burned  it  in 
lamps  down  in  that  cavern." 

"By  Jove,  that's  interesting,"  replied  Munson. 


170       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"We  know  there  is  oil  to  the  west,  oil  to  the 
north,  and  oil  to  the  south,  and  it  stands  to  reason 
there  must  be  oil  here  as  well." 

"Yes/*  interposed  Buck,  "but  old  Ben  Thurston 
would  never  allow  any  drillin'  on  his  place." 

"Who  the  hell  wants  oil  anyhow?"  exclaimed 
Jack  Rover.  "We'll  have  all  the  money  we  need 
with  the  buried  gold  and  Guadalupe's  placer  mine." 

"Yes,  but  oil  is  oil,"  replied  the  storekeeper, 
with  a  shrewd  nod  of  his  head.  "They  say 
Rockefeller  has  only  to  raise  the  price  a  quarter 
of  a  cent  a  gallon  whenever  he  wants  to  give  away 
another  million  or  so  to  a  university  or  a  hospital." 

"Well,  we  ain't  interested  in  universities  or 
hospitals,"  said  Tom  Baker.  "But  I  agree  with 
Buck  that  oil's  oil,  and  I,  for  one,  intend  to  take 
everything  that's  comin*  to  me.  My  God,  we 
can  afford  to  buy  Ben  Thurston  out  and  do  some 
drillin'  for  ourselves  on  San  Antonio  Rancho. 
It'll  help  to  pass  the  time  anyways."  As  he 
finished,  he  began  to  pour  out  another  round  of 
drinks. 

"Help  to  keep  you  from  the  booze,"  muttered 
Buck,  in  an  inaudible  aside.  But  he  drained  his 
own  glass  and  smacked  his  lips  with  satisfaction. 
"Guess  I'll  be  gettin'  another  bottle,  boys,"  he 
said  aloud,  genially. 


ELUSIVE  RICHES  171 

"Oh,  we've  had  enough,"  mildly  protested 
Munson. 

"Not  by  a  jugful,"  replied  Buck.  "You  and 
Jack  ain't  goin*  to  ride  home  till  mornin',  and 
there's  lots  of  things  to  be  talked  over  yet." 

"Great  Scott,  it's  already  two  o'clock,"  re 
marked  Munson,  consulting  his  watch. 

"Then  the  night's  still  young,  boys,"  exclaimed 
Tom  Baker,  hilariously.  "Get  the  brew,  Buck. 
The  empty  bottles  will  keep  the  tally.  Come  on, 
lieutenant,  drain  your  glass.  No  heel  taps  in 
this  crowd." 

They  had  started  their  conversation  in  low 
tones  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  slumbers  of  Pierre 
Luzon.  But  this  precaution,  or  act  of  delicate 
consideration,  had  been  long  since  forgotten. 
They  were  talking  loud  now,  and  often  all  to 
gether,  and  when  Buck  Ashley  had  returned  from 
yet  another  pilgrimage  to  the  store,  none  heard 
or  noticed  the  door  of  the  bedroom  being  cautiously 
pushed  open  by  just  the  fraction  of  an  inch. 

All  four  chairs  had  been  again  drawn  around 
the  cheerful  log  fire. 

"You  were  talking,  Tom,  of  buying  out  Ben 
Thurston,"  remarked  Jack  Rover.  "Then  you 
haven't  heard  there's  an  option  been  given  to 
a  Los  Angeles  syndicate?  Guess  mebbe  Ben 


172       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Thurston  won't  be  the  owner  of  the  big  rancho 
very  much  longer." 

"And  a  good  job,  too,"  replied  the  sheriff,  as 
he  helped  himself  to  yet  another  drink. 

Buck  Ashley  shook  his  head  incredulously. 
"Oh,  lots  of  fellers  have  paid  down  money  for  an 
option,  as  they  call  it,  on  the  Thurston  property, 
and  finally  when  the  rub  came  they  didn't  come 
across  and  live  up  to  their  bargain,  and  so  they 
just  naturally  lost  their  option  money." 

"I  was  talking  to  a  geologist,"  intervened 
Munson,  in  whose  mind  the  oil  question  seemed  to 
be  still  uppermost,  "and  he  says  there  is  every 
indication  that  the  Midway  Oil  fields,  a  few  miles 
north,  are  not  one  whit  better  than  wells  that  can 
be  opened  up  right  here." 

"But  what's  the  use,"  said  Tom  Baker,  "of  all 
the  oil  fields  in  California  to  us  fellers  if  we  are 
about  to  be  let  into  the  secret  door  of  a  big  cavern 
where  they've  got  twelve  or  fifteen  millions  of 
twenty-dollar  gold  pieces  stacked  up,  jest  awaitin' 
for  us  to  take  'em."  The  whisky  was  beginning 
to  do  its  work;  he  had  already  forgotten  his 
aspirations  of  being  an  oil  king. 

"That's  right,"  said  Jack  Rover,  "and  don't 
forget,  while  you're  counting  them  twenty-dollar 
gold  pieces,  that  Pierre  Luzon  has  promised  to 


ELUSIVE  RICHES  173 

show  us  the  shallow  riffle  in  the  mountain  stream 
where  Guadalupe  gets  all  that  placer  gold."  In 
the  cowboy's  case  the  alcohol  was  making  only 
still  more  fixed  the  one  fixed  idea  in  his  brain. 

"Damn  this  store  business  anyway,"  said  Buck 
Ashley,  inconsequentially  returning  to  the  theme 
that  appealed  to  him  most  directly.  "Do  you 
'spose  I'm  goin'  to  work  my  fingers  off  tying  up 
groceries  after  we  find  old  Murietta's  money 
and  the  White  Wolf's  treasure?  Not  by  one  hell 
of  a  sight,  if  I  know  myself,  and  I  'low  as  how  I  do." 

And  at  the  slightly  opened  bedroom  door  old 
Pierre,  Luzon  whom  they  all  thought  to  be  fast 
asleep,  was  listening  to  every  word! 

"But  there  is  one  thing,"  cried  Tom  Baker, 
striking  the  table  fiercely  as  he  set  down  his  glass, 
"I  want  you  fellers  to  get  next  to  yourselves  now 
and  make  up  your  mind  to." 

"Wa'al,  don't  stop,  Tom,"  said  Rover.  "Go 
on  and  tell  us  what  you're  thinking  about.  Get 
it  off  your  chest,  old  man." 

"It's  just  this  way.  By  God,  you  fellers  are  not 
entitled  to  as  much  of  this  'ere  twelve  or  fifteen 
million  dollars  as  I  am,  for  I'm  the  feller  that  went 
to  the  governor  and  got  his  parole  and  brought 
Pierre  back  here  to  Tejon.  Do  you  get  me?" 

Buck  Ashley  had  straightened  up  and  looked 


174       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

at  Tom  Baker  with  an  ugly  scowl  on  his  face. 
"It  was  me,"  he  said,  "got  that  letter  from  Pierre 
Luzon  and  we  all  thro  wed  in,  share  and  share 
alike,  all  five  of  us.  And  we'll  cut  what  we  find, 
too,  whether  it's  one  million  or  fifteen  million, 
into  five  equal  parts,  or  there'll  be  blood  flowin' 
good  and  plenty." 

Baker  staggered  to  his  feet,  steadied  himself 
for  a  moment  and  began  to  roll  up  his  sleeves. 

"There  be  some  things,"  he  ejaculated,  "that 
you  jest  can't  let  wait  and  settle  up  when  the  deal 
is  all  closed.  I  know  what  my  rights  are  and  you 
fellers  can't  bluff  me,  not  by  a  derned  sight." 

"Hold  on,  hold  on,  gentlemen,"  interposed 
Munson.  "Let's  not  commence  quarreling  about 
something  we  are  not  even  sure  we  shall  ever  see. 
Of  course  we  hope  to  be  escorted  into  the  cavern 
by  old  Pierre  Luzon,  and  we  likewise  hope  that 
he'll  find  a  hidden  treasure.  And  by  the  way, 
Buck,  this  reminds  me — the  cut  has  to  be  into 
six  equal  parts,  not  five,  for  we  owe  Luzon  the 
squarest  of  square  deals." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  agin'  that,"  muttered  Buck.  "I 
just  didn't  remember  him." 

"Well,"  resumed  Munson,  "why  quarrel  about 
something  that  is  as  yet  nothing  but  a  myth? 
It  occurs  to  me  that  we  should  rather,  individually 


ELUSIVE  RICHES  175 

and  collectively,  be  exceedingly  thankful  that 
Pierre  Luzon  is  alive,  and  that  the  White  Wolf  is 
dead,  and  that  the  one  man  who  holds  the  secret 
has  promised  to  show  us  this  treasure." 

"I've  never  believed  one  cussed  word  about  the 
White  Wolf  being  dead,"  growled  Buck  Ashley. 

"Well,  it  sure  was  in  the  newspapers,"  said 
Tom  Baker,  turning  down  his  sleeves  and  resuming 
his  seat. 

"Yes,  it  sure  was  in  the  newspapers,"  replied 
Buck,  "and  they  jest  seemed  to  settle  the  fact, 
leastways  to  their  own  satisfaction.  But  I've 
been  a-thinkin'  about  Dick  Willoughby.  I  don't 
believe  he  ever  killed  Marshall  Thurston,  I  don't." 

"Whoever  did  kill  him,"  put  in  Jack  Rover, 
"did  it  good  and  plenty.  Put  the  shot  right 
square  through  his  heart." 

"Well,"  said  Tom  Baker,  reaching  for  more 
whisky,  "I  ain't  got  much  to  say,  but  what  I  says 
I  stands  to  on  this  'ere  subject,  and  that  is — " 

Almost  with  one  accord  all  turned  at  the 
creaking  of  the  bedroom  door,  and  there  was 
Pierre  Luzon,  looking  as  if  he  had  seen  a  ghost. 
His  short  prison-cropped  hair  seemed  to  be  stand 
ing  on  end  like  bristles,  and  his  eyes  stared  wildly 
at  the  four  men.  At  last  he  cried  out  in  a  shrill 
voice  that  was  almost  a  scream : 


176       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Ze  son  of  Ben  Thurston  killed!  Ah,  ha!" 
he  laughed,  hysterically.  "Shot  through  ze  heart ! 
—vengeance  at  last  begins!  Ze  White  Wolf  is 
not  dead!  He  is  one  live  man!" 

The  door  was  hastily  closed  with  a  loud  bang, 
and  the  weird  figure  vanished  like  an  apparition. 

For  a  few  moments  the  revellers  sat  hi  stupefied 
silence.  Finally  Buck  Ashley  said  in  a  low  voice: 
"Damn  that  whisky  anyhow.  It  has  made  us 
talk  too  loud." 

"Yes,"  remarked  Tom  Baker,  "and  also  too 
dangnation  much,  I'm  a-thinkin'." 

Both  were  sober  men  now. 

"Believe  I'll  have  a  snooze,"  said  Jack  Rover, 
seating  himself  on  an  old  lounge  in  a  corner  of 
the  room.  But  he  did  not  lie  down. 

Nothing  more  was  said  for  perhaps  a  full  half 
hour;  all  were  nodding  or  busy  with  their  brooding 
thoughts. 

At  last  Buck  Ashley  rose  and  tiptoed  toward 
the  bedroom. 

"Guess  I'll  see  if  poor  Pierre  has  gone  to  sleep 
again,"  he  murmured. 

A  moment  later  he  shouted  out  from  the  inner 
chamber: 

"Hell,  boys! — he's  gone!  He's  given  us  the 
slip — the  damned  old  jail-bird!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 
The  Jail  Delivery 

AtOUND  Dick  Willoughby  there  had  been 
woven  a  web  of  circumstantial  evidence 
that  even  before  his  trial  had  convinced 
most  people  of  his  guilt.  Only  a  few  tried  friends 
who  absolutely  refused  to  believe  him  capable 
of  shooting  down  an  unarmed  man  from  ambush 
clung  to  their  faith  that  he  had  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  slaying  of  young  Marshall  Thurston. 
Among  the  general  public  the  only  question  in 
discussion  was  whether  the  jury  were  likely  to 
find  extenuating  circumstances  and,  should  the 
life  of  the  prisoner  come  to  be  spared,  how  long 
would  be  his  sentence. 

Ben  Thurston  had  lavished  money  with  a  free 
hand  toward  securing  every  possible  piece  of 
testimony  in  support  of  the  prosecution,  and 
before  his  return  home  even  the  cautious  New 
York  lawyer,  Mr.  Hawkins,  had  admitted  that  the 
case  against  Willoughby  appeared  to  be  con 
clusive.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  a  few  weeks 
now  when  Thurston  would  be  leaving  the  district. 

(177) 


178       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Already  San  Antonio  Rancho  was  in  possession 
of  the  syndicate;  their  foreman  was  in  charge,  the 
stock  under  their  control,  and  it  was  only  out  of 
consideration  that  the  former  owner  was  being 
permitted  to  linger  a  little  longer  in  residence. 
But  for  the  gloomy  and  morose  man  there  seemed 
to  be  gloating  satisfaction  in  the  grim  thought 
that  before  shaking  off  forever  the  dust  of  his  old 
home  he  would  first  of  all  ensure  the  hanging  of 
his  son's  murderer. 

Among  the  most  regular  visitors  at  the  jail  were 
the  ladies  of  La  Siesta,  and  rumor  now  began  to 
run  around  that  Miss  Merle  Farns worth,  despite 
Willoughhy's  pleading  that  she  should  not  mix 
her  name  up  in  the  case,  would  offer  some  sur 
prising  evidence  in  favor  of  the  accused  man — 
evidence  that  might  not  exonerate  Willoughby 
from  responsibility  for  the  deed,  but  perhaps  would 
fully  justify  his  act  to  the  minds  of  the  jurymen. 

It  was  now  only  three  days  from  the  trial,  and 
the  whole  county  was  agog  with  expectation. 

That  night  in  the  small  hours  five  masked  men 
rode  very  quietly  through  the  streets  to  the 
vicinity  of  the  jail.  All  were  heavily  armed,  and 
one  of  them  was  leading  an  extra  saddle  horse. 
The  party  dismounted  under  the  shadow  of  some 
trees.  One  man  held  the  horses,  while  his  four 


THE  JAIL  DELIVERY  179 

companions,  with  drawn  revolvers,  advanced  to 
the  gateway.  Whether  it  was  a  simple  case  of 
cowardly  yielding  to  threats,  or  whether  there 
had  been  preliminary  financial  greasing  of  locks 
and  bolts,  aided  perhaps  by  sympathy  for  the 
prisoner,  the  fact  remains  that  within  a  very  few 
minutes  Dick  Willoughby  had  been  brought  from 
his  cell. 

"You  are  a  free  man,  Mr.  Willoughby,"  said  the 
leader  of  the  masked  band  in  a  low  voice.  "You 
will  come  with  us." 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Dick. 

"We  are  friends — that  is  enough." 

"I  have  no  wish  to  go,"  protested  Dick  in  the 
hearing  of  the  jailers.  "The  jury  must  acquit 
me — I  am  ready  to  remain  here  until  they  do 
acquit  me." 

"Take  care.  The  man  with  the  money  can  put 
the  rope  round  your  neck." 

"I  am  not  afraid." 

"There  is  another  reason.  The  name  of  a 
certain  young  lady  must  not  be  introduced  into 
this  case." 

"I  have  begged  her  not  to  testify." 

"But  she  will  testify  if  this  trial  goes  on — that 
you  know  well.  Now  you  will  come  with  us,  for 
her  sake  if  not  for  your  own." 


180       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Be  it  so  then,"  replied  Dick.     "Lead  the  way." 

Just  as  quietly  as  they  had  come  the  little  band 
of  riders  rode  through  the  silent  and  deserted 
streets.  They  took  the  southern  road,  and  for 
the  first  few  miles  kept  to  the  thoroughfare. 
Then,  reaching  a  stretch  of  unreclaimed  land, 
they  started  across  country.  The  night  was 
moonless  and  dark,  but  Dick  knew  instinctively 
that  they  were  making  for  the  mountainous 
country  to  the  north  of  the  Tejon  Pass. 

The  leader  rode  a  short  distance  ahead.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken.  In  about  two  hours  they  were 
among  the  foothills.  The  pace  slackened,  and 
then,  as  they  reached  a  clump  of  oaks,  a  halt  was 
called.  From  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees  a 
man  appeared,  leading  two  sturdy  little  mountain 
ponies.  The  newcomer  wore  no  mask. 

"This  man  will  be  your  guide  from  now  on," 
announced  the  leader,  whose  features  were  still 
concealed  by  the  strip  of  black  cloth  tied  around 
the  lower  part  of  his  face.  "I  am  sorry  we  must 
ask  you  to  wear  a  blindfold,  Mr.  Willoughby. 
But  you  are  among  friends,  and  I  feel  sure  you 
will  help  us  all  by  your  ready  assent." 

"I  am  in  your  hands,"  replied  Dick,  quietly. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  seated  on  one  of 
the  ponies,  his  eyes  securely  bandaged.  The 


THE  JAIL  DELIVERY  181 

saddle  was  a  big  comfortable  Mexican  one,  and 
he  rested  his  hands  on  the  horn;  for  there  was  no 
bridle,  only  a  leading  rein  held  by  the  man  mounted 
on  the  other  pony. 

"Adiott" 

It  was  the  leader's  voice  again,  and  now  once 
more  Dick  was  on  the  move,  the  nimble  little 
pony  cantering  gently  over  the  turf. 

Hour  succeeded  hour.  The  sun  had  risen,  as 
the  blindfolded  rider  could  tell  from  the  warmth 
of  the  atmosphere.  The  canter  had  long  since 
changed  to  a  walk,  and  Dick  knew  that  they  had 
been  climbing  steadily,  with  many  a  turn  and 
sometimes  up  precipitous  slopes. 

At  last  a  strange  chilliness  came  into  the  air. 
Dick  imagined  that  he  heard  a  growl,  as  of  some 
savage  animal.  Then  there  came  a  stop,  and 
he  caught  some  whispered  words — a  woman's 
voice  he  could  have  sworn,  speaking  in  some 
strange  tongue.  After  a  few  minutes  his  pony 
started  again. 

But  they  had  not  gone  more  than  a  hundred 
yards  further  when  his  guide  called  out. 

"Here  we  are,  sir.  I  will  help  you  to  descend. 
Zen  I  take  ze  bandage  away.  You  see  again.*' 

The  voice  had  a  quaint  foreign  accent.  For 
a  little  tune  Willoughby  remained  blind.  Then 


182       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

he  began  to  see  things,  and  involuntarily  rubbed 
his  eyes  in  amazement. 

He  was  in  a  vast  vaulted  cavern  with  no  visible 
entrance  revealed  by  the  dim  light  of  several 
lanterns  suspended  from  the  roof.  In  the  far 
distance  a  log  fire  was  burning,  and  silhouetted 
against  its  ruddy  glow  was  the  figure  of  the  aged 
Indian  squaw,  Guadalupe,  with  a  great  dog-like 
creature  standing  by  her  side. 

"Guadalupe!"  exclaimed  Dick  in  profound 
surprise,  turning  to  his  guide. 

This  man  he  now  saw  was  old,  with  short  gray 
hair  and  a  short  gray  beard.  His  face  was  pale, 
but  there  was  a  pleasant  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  Guadalupe,"  the  guide  replied.  "Guada 
lupe,  she  guard  ze  entrance  to  our  cave — she  and 
ze  white  wolf.  No  one  can  get  past  ze  white  wolf 
unless  Guadalupe  speaks  ze  word." 

"And  who  are  you?" 

"Oh,  call  me  Pierre.  I  am  Mr.  Willoughby's 
servant.  Here  are  fine  beefsteaks  ready  for 
breakfast.  Come." 

"Pierre!"   murmured   Dick.     "Pierre   Luzon?" 

"Zat  is  my  name.     I  am  Pierre  Luzon." 


CHAPTER  XX 
In  the  Cavern 

WHEN    Dick    proceeded    to    follow   Pierre 
Luzon    he   found    that    the   ponies   had 
already  trotted  away  through  the  semi- 
darkness,  evidently  quite  capable  on  their  own 
account    of    finding    their    accustomed    stable. 
Leading  the  way  across  the  cavern,  Pierre  entered 
a  corridor  at  the  far  end  of  which  bright  lights 
were  burning.     Soon,  Dick,  to  his  great  wonder 
ment,   found   himself   in   a   comfortably,   almost 
luxuriously  furnished  apartment. 

There  were  big  thick  rugs  on  the  floor,  and  the 
rock  walls  were  completely  hidden  by  tapestries. 
The  dining  table  in  the  centre  was  set  with  napery, 
china,  glass,  cutlery  and  silverware  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  a  first-class  hotel.  Above  swung  a 
bronze  lamp  of  antique  pattern.  Another  table  was 
laden  with  books,  newspapers  and  magazines.  In 
one  corner  gleamed  the  snow-white  counterpane  of 
a  massive  bedstead  built  of  oak  in  Old  Mission  style. 
Here  and  there  portable  oil  stoves  were  burning, 
diffusing  a  genial  warmth  throughout  the  grotto. 

(183) 


184       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Pierre  watched  the  guest's  look  of  bewilderment 
as  he  gazed  around  him. 

"You  will  be  very  comfortable  here,"  said  the 
Frenchman.  "I  have  orders  to  attend  to  all  your 
wants." 

"Orders,  from  whom?"   asked  Dick  abruptly. 

"After  breakfast  you  will  know.  I  have  one 
letter  for  you  in  my  pocket." 

With  characteristic  philosophy  Dick  accepted 
the  situation.  The  very  mention  of  breakfast 
gave  a  keener  edge  to  an  already  sharply  whetted 
appetite.  Pierre  departed  and  presently  returned 
with  a  superb  sirloin  steak  sizzling  on  a  hot 
platter.  Under  his  arm  was  tucked  a  bottle  of 
wine.  As  he  set  down  the  latter,  Dick  noted  that 
it  was  dusty  and  cobwebby,  as  if  it  had  emerged 
from  some  ancient  cellar. 

"Zis  is  not  ze  vintage  of  California,"  remarked 
Pierre,  as  he  drew  the  cork.  "It  is  rare  old 
Burgundy — all  ze  way  from  my  beloved  France." 

"La  belle  France,"  murmured  Dick.  "I  spent 
a  year  there,  Pierre,  most  of  the  time  in  Paris." 

"Ah,  monsieur  knows  France  and  Paris," 
exclaimed  the  old  man  in  great  delight.  "Zen 
you  speak  French,  too?" 

"C7n  peu"  laughed  Dick.  "Mais  je  jais  beau- 
coup  de  faults,  mon  ami." 


Pierre  Luzon  Listens  at  the  Door  and  learns  the  White  Wolf 
is  Not  Dead— Page  147 


IN  THE  CAVERN  185 

"Non,  non,  monsieur,"  cried  Pierre,  breaking 
into  voluble  French.  "Your  accent  is  perfect — 
it  is  delightful  to  hear  my  native  language  again. 
We  shall  be  great  friends,  Mr.  Willoughby. 
Already  I  am  your  devoted  servant."  He  bowed 
deferentially,  as  he  held  Dick's  chair  ready  for 
him  to  be  seated. 

"You  will  breakfast  with  me,  Pierre?"  asked 
Dick,  still  in  his  best  French. 

"No,  no.  I  wait  on  monsieur.  I  shall  breakfast 
in  good  time." 

Pierre  was  not  to  be  persuaded  to  take  a  place 
at  the  table,  so  Dick  sat  down  in  solitary  state 
and  was  served  in  lordly  fashion. 

With  the  demi-tasse  of  black  coffee  at  the  close 
of  the  meal  came  a  box  of  cigars — cigars  fit  for  a 
prince,  as  Dick  knew  from  the  first  fragrant  whiff. 

The  table  was  now  cleared  and  Pierre  ready  to 
withdraw.  He  had  taken  a  letter  from  his  pocket 
and  was  holding  it  in  his  hand.  But  Dick, 
warmed  and  fed  and  supremely  contented,  was 
watching  the  ascending  rings  of  tobacco  smoke. 

"Do  you  know,  Pierre,"  he  said  between  com 
placent  puffs,  "that  I  was  one  of  the  bunch  that 
helped  to  get  you  out  of  San  Quentin?"  He 
had  lapsed  into  English. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  replied  Pierre,  also  dropping 


186       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

his  French.  "Ze  five  men  who  made  up  ze 
purse — I  am  very  grateful  to  you  all." 

"Then  what  about  the  hidden  treasure?" 

"Ah,  I  was  to  show  ze  hidden  treasure.  But 
one  great  change  come  about.  I  made  one  big 
mistake." 

"Then  the  story  of  all  this  gold  was  a  frame-up, 
was  it?"  laughed  Willoughby. 

"No,  no,"  protested  Pierre  earnestly.  "Ze 
cave — you  are  here  in  ze  cave,  although  you  do 
not  know  ze  secret  hiding  place.  Ze  treasure,  it 
is  here,  too.  But  I  can  no  longer  show  ze  gold, 
for  ze  man  to  whom  it  all  belong  he  is  not  dead — 
he  is  alive." 

"Whom  do  you  mean?" 

"Don  Manuel  de  Valencia — him  you  call  ze 
White  Wolf." 

"Great  guns!  So  he  has  appeared  again.  The 
newspaper  stories  were  all  wrong?" 

"Zat  is  how  I  made  my  mistake.  But  I  did  not 
know  until  I  came  back  to  Tehachapi.  Ze  White 
Wolf  is  alive.  It  is  he  who  has  brought  you  here 
as  his  guest.  Now  you  will  read  zis  letter,  and 
zen  all  things  you  will  comprehend." 

Pierre  laid  the  missive  on  the  damask  table 
cloth  in  front  of  Dick.  The  latter  fastened  his 
eyes  on  it  in  speechless  surprise.  Before  he 


IN  THE  CAVERN  187 

recovered  himself  Pierre,  lifting  the  tray  of  empty 
dishes,  had  noiselessly  disappeared. 

"Mystery  upon  mystery,"  murmured  Dick  as 
he  broke  the  seal.  The  letter  was  a  brief  one, 
and  began  without  any  of  the  usual  forms  of 
personal  address: 

"You  are  in  safe  and  honorable  keeping.  Have  no  care. 
Nor  need  you  worry  about  your  friends — they  will  be  in 
formed  of  your  safety. 

"Just  as  soon  as  possible  the  real  slayer  of  Marshall  Thurs- 
ton  will  be  revealed.  You  will  be  completely  exonerated 
and  can  then  return  to  the  world,  a  free  man.  By  this  means 
a  certain  young  lady  will  be  spared  from  the  gossip  and  the 
publicity  which,  although  she  has  been  brave  enough  to  say 
it  does  not  matter,  would  bring  for  her  annoyance  and 
pain. 

"If  she  is  dear  to  you,  as  the  writer  of  this  letter  believes, 
you  will  help  to  shield  her  from  vulgar  curiosity  by  remaining 
quietly  where  you  are  until  the  proper  hour  for  your  deliver 
ance  comes.  It  is  only  necessary  for  you  to  give  your  word 
of  honor  to  Pierre  Luzon  that  you  will  make  no  attempt  to 
escape  or  reveal  your  whereabouts.  Your  trustfulness  will 
be  rewarded — this  is  the  solemn  promise  of 

"DON  MANUEL  DE  VALENCIA, 

"Your  friend." 

Dick  read  and  re-read  the  strange  message. 
All  at  once  he  became  conscious  that  Pierre  Luzon 
was  again  standing  by  his  chair.  Their  eyes  met. 

"Does  Mr.  Willoughby  give  ze  promise  re 
quired?"  asked  Pierre. 

Dick  rose  to  his  feet  and  extended  his  hand. 


188       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"I  promise,  Pierre.  You  have  my  word  of 
honor.  The  letter  says  that  is  enough." 

"I  have  read  ze  letter  before  it  was  sealed. 
We  all  know  Mr.  Willoughby's  word  is  enough — 
it  is  as  good  as  one  gold  bond." 

"I'd  do  anything  for  Merle  Farnsworth,"  con 
tinued  Dick,  carried  away  by  his  fervid  emotion. 
"I  would  die  for  her,  if  need  be,  to  save  her  from 

• 

one  moment's  pain." 

"Don  Manuel  he  know  that,"  replied  Pierre. 

Dick  paused  and  his  look  changed. 

"How  the  devil  does  he  know  I  love  the  girl?" 

"Ah!"  The  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  smiled.  "Ah!  Don  Manuel  he  know  every 
thing.  But  now,  I  am  under  orders  not  to  speak. 
Over  there  you  will  find  ze  latest  newspapers, 
sir,"  he  went  on,  pointing  to  the  table  laden  with 
literature,  "and  every  few  days  more  will  be 
brought  for  you — not  only  ze  newspapers  of  Los 
Angeles  and  San  Francisco,  but  also,  ze  newspapers 
of  New  York  and  London  and  Paris,  all  of  which 
monsieur  is  accustomed  to  read." 

"Great  Scott,  you  seem  to  know,"  exclaimed 
Dick  in  a  low  voice. 

Pierre  continued  placidly: 

"And  you  play  chess.  There  is  a  box  of  chess — 
echecs  we  call  it  in  France,  you  will  remember. 


IN  THE  CAVERN  189 

*• 

I  too  play  ze  game.  Don  Manuel  and  I  used  to 
spend  many  hours  over  ze  board.  After  I  have 
had  my  breakfast,  I,  Pierre  Luzon,  challenge  you 
to  one  game  of  chess." 

"Be  it  so,"  laughed  Dick.  "But  you  must  be 
hungry,  man.  For  heaven's  sake  go  and  eat. 
We'll  yarn  later  on.  Meanwhile,  I'll  have  a 
glance  through  the  newspapers." 

Dick  handled  the  newspapers  with  renewed 
surprise — the  very  New  York  papers  he  was 
accustomed  to  receive  regularly,  also  the  old 
familiar  Times  Weekly  from  London  and  the  Paris 
Figaro  to  which  he  had  subscribed  ever  since  the 
old  Quartier  Latin  days!  The  same  with  the 
magazines — all  his  favorites  were  on  the  table. 

"Well,  I'll  be  blowed!  Is  it  the  guileless  Sing 
Ling  whom  Don  Manuel  has  been  tapping  for 
information?  This  certainly  looks  like  home," 
and  again  he  glanced  over  the  table.  He  looked 
at  the  titles  of  the  books — several  of  the  latest 
novels,  a  volume  on  socialism,  another  on  the 
history  of  architecture. 

"Seems  to  know  my  book  tastes,  too.  I  won't 
be  lonesome,  that's  certain.  Well,  I  can't  do 
better  than  make  a  start  with  the  newspapers. 
I've  fallen  quite  behind  the  times." 

He   stretched   himself   out   on    a   long   rattan 


190       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

chair,  and  started  with  a  Los  Angeles  daily.  He 
had  read  lazily  on  for  nearly  an  hour,  when  there 
came  from  his  lips  a  little  cry  of  surprise.  Start 
ing  up  into  a  sitting  posture,  Dick  again  perused 
the  paragraph  that  had  excited  his  special  interest. 

It  was  an  announcement  stating  that  an  ideal 
city  was  about  to  be  built  in  the  Tehachapi 
valley,  and  that  a  prize  of  ten  thousand  dollars 
was  to  be  awarded  to  the  designer  of  the  best 
plans  for  laying  out  such  a  town.  Reference 
was  made  to  an  advertisement  on  another  page 
giving  the  details  and  the  rules  of  the  competition. 
To  this  Dick  eagerly  turned. 

The  advertisement  set  forth  that  the  model 
city  was  to  be  located  somewhere  near  the  centre 
of  San  Antonio  Rancho,  that  the  land  was  trav 
ersed  by  the  state  highway,  by  two  railroads,  by 
two  electric  power  lines  and  two  oil-carrying  pipe 
lines,  also  the  great  Owen's  River  aqueduct  that 
supplied  Los  Angeles,  some  two  hundred  miles 
away,  with  water  from  the  high  Sierras.  It 
was  further  stated  that  the  entire  ranch  was  to 
be  subdivided  into  small  tracts,  and  that  already 
hundreds  of  applicants  were  waiting  to  make 
choice  of  home  sites  just  so  soon  as  the  survey 
work  was  completed  and  the  land  thrown  open  to 
selection. 


IN  THE  CAVERN  191 

The  plans  required,  and  for  which  the  prize 
of  ten  thousand  dollars  was  offered,  were  to  show 
the  finest  landscape  effects,  the  most  impressive 
and  convenient  location  of  public  buildings,  the 
most  attractive  ideas  for  bringing  into  being  a 
veritable  ideal  city  provided  with  all  the  most 
modern  conveniences  and  sanitary  equipment. 

"By  gad,  I'd  like  to  have  a  shot  at  that,"  mur 
mured  Willoughby  as  he  lay  back  in  his  chair 
and  meditated. 

After  a  time  he  picked  up  the  London  journal, 
and  the  very  first  thing  that  met  his  eye  was  the 
identical  advertisement  on  the  back  of  the  cover. 
He  rose  and  began  to  search  through  the  week's 
file  of  the  Figaro,  and  there  again  he  found  the 
announcement  of  the  contest.  He  was  too 
keenly  excited  now  for  more  reading.  He  began 
to  pace  the  chamber.  What  a  clever  head  had 
planned  all  this  world- wide  publicity! 

"That  Los  Angeles  bunch  of  fellows  are  cer 
tainly  great.  They  are  evidently  going  into  this 
thing  right.  Doubtless  they  are  determined  to 
build  the  ideal — the  model — city  of  California. 
They  want  the  best  brains  of  all  lands  to  help 
beautify  the  place.  Gee!  but  I'd  like  to  be  hi 
this  contest  game.  But  perhaps  it  would  be 
presumption  on  my  part.  Yet,  who  knows  the 


192       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

country  better  than  I  do?  When  it  comes  to 
landscape  effects,  I'm  Johnny-on-the-spot  all 
right.  And  they're  in  a  hurry — only  sixty  days 
for  the  drawings.  Unusual,  such  a  short  time. 
But  I  guess  they're  going  to  make  the  dust  fly 
without  a  week's  unnecessary  delay.  They  are 
certainly  live  wires — they  began  by  getting  old 
Ben  Thurston  on  the  run." 

He  was  chuckling  to  himself  at  the  thought 
when  Pierre  reappeared. 

"Pierre,  old  fellow,"  cried  Dick,  "would  you  be 
able  to  get  me  a  drawing  board,  a  box  of  instru 
ments,  india  ink,  water-colors,  drawing  paper, 
and  so  on?" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  the  old 
man  with  a  smile.  "Do  you  think  you  are  again 
in  ze  Quartier  Latin,  Mr.  Willoughby?" 

"No.  But  while  I'm  here  I'm  going  back  to 
the  old  Quartier  Latin  life,  that's  a  cinch.  Can 
you  buy  me  that  stuff?"  he  added,  diving  into  his 
hip  pocket. 

But  he  had  forgotten — he  had  come  out  of  jail, 
and  his  personal  possessions  had  been  left  behind. 

Pierre  Luzon,  however,  had  interpreted  both  the 
gesture  and  the  thought  that  had  prompted  it. 

"You  need  no  money  here,  Mr.  Willoughby," 
he  said.  "My  orders  are  to  get  you  everything 


IN  THE  CAVERN  193 

you  call  for.  Write  all  you  need  on  a  piece  of 
paper.  I  send  a  trusty  messenger,  and  we  have 
ze  drawing  paper,  ze  instruments,  ze  ink  and  ze 
paints  here  very  soon — yes,  very  soon." 

"Then,  by  thunder,  I'm  going  to  win  that  ten- 
thousand-dollar  prize." 

"But  she  is  worth  millions  of  dollars." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Ze  young  lady — she  very  rich  young  lady, 
Miss  Merle." 

Dick  laughed. 

"Oh,  that's  quite  another  prize,  Pierre,"  he 
replied.  "And  if  she  is  so  very  rich,  as  you  say, 
why  that  puts  her  further  out  of  my  reach  than 
ever." 

Pierre  nodded  his  head  determinedly. 

"If  I  was  you,  Mr.  Willoughby,  ze  prize  I  would 
try  to  win  is  ze  beautiful  young  lady." 

When  Pierre  had  gone,  Dick  again  lay  back  in 
the  long  chair.  But  he  was  day-dreaming  and 
love-dreaming  now,  wondering  whether  Merle 
Farnsworth  really  cared  for  him,  whether  he  might 
dare  whisper  to  her  the  story  of  his  passionate 
love. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
A  Debt  of  Honor 

PUBLIC  excitement  had  been  running  high 
over  the  approaching  trial  of  Dick  Wil- 
loughby,  but  his  delivery  from  jail  by  the 
masked  night-riders  came  as  the  culminating 
climax.  Mystery  and  romance  were  piling  up. 
Despite  the  strength  of  the  circumstantial  evi 
dence,  the  sudden  fate  that  had  overtaken  the 
young  heir  to  San  Antonio  Rancho  had  been 
shrouded  with  uncertainty;  no  witness  had  seen 
the  actual  doing  of  the  murderous  deed.  The 
sensational  arrest  of  Dick  Willoughby  had  been 
followed  by  his  still  more  sensational  disappear 
ance;  for  he  seemed  to  have  vanished  from  the 
face  of  the  earth — he  had  been  spirited  to  some 
place  of  concealment  to  which  there  was  not  the 
slightest  clue,  while  also  the  identity  of  his  res 
cuers  remained  a  profound  enigma. 

All  sorts  of  speculations  were  rife,  and  it  was 
small  wonder  that  the  name  of  the  famous  bandit, 
Don  Manuel,  came  to  be  revived.  This  was  just 
the  sort  of  audacious  work  the  White  Wolf  would 

(194) 


A  DEBT  OF  HONOR  195 

have  gloried  in — breaking  into  a  prison,  defying 
the  authorities,  leaving  behind  him  a  trail  of 
mystery  and  vague  terror.  But  shrewd  old-timers 
pointed  out  that  Don  Manuel  had  never  in  his 
whole  career  helped  a  gringo — that  his  hand  had 
been  against  every  American,  and  that  in  his 
earlier  days  at  all  events  he  had  killed  ruthlessly, 
out  of  sheer  lust  for  vengeance  against  the  race 
of  newcomers  who  had  despoiled  him  of  his  ances 
tral  acres.  What  reason,  therefore,  could  he  have 
had  to  help  Dick  Willoughby  to  liberty?  Even 
if  it  had  been  the  outlaw's  hand  that  had  pulled 
the  trigger  against  the  son  of  his  hated  enemy, 
Ben  Thurston,  little  would  he  have  cared  if  a 
score  of  gringos  had  come  to  their  end,  justly  or 
unjustly,  as  an  aftermath  of  the  tragedy. 

Old  Ben  Thurston  had  discussed  this  very  ques 
tion  with  himself.  The  slaying  of  his  only  son,  the 
clever  business  deal  that  had  called  his  own  tricky 
and  dishonest  bluff  and  lost  him  his  principality, 
the  sight  of  his  herds  being  driven  away,  the 
approaching  eviction  from  his  home — all  these 
events  crowding  one  upon  the  other  had  exas 
perated  him  beyond  measure  and  completed  the 
change  of  the  already  grouchy,  disgruntled  man 
into  a  veritable  wild  beast  snapping  and  snarling 
at  everyone.  Yet  his  mind  was  completely  ob- 


196       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

sessed  by  the  idea  that  it  was  Dick  Willoughby , 
and  Dick  Willoughby  alone,  who  had  shot  his  son, 
so  there  was  no  room  in  his  small  and  obfuscated 
brain  for  any  seriously  renewed  apprehension  that 
his  old  enemy,  the  White  Wolf,  had  come  to  life 
again. 

Dick's  escape  from  jail  almost  gave  Ben  Thurs- 
ton  a  fit  of  apoplexy.  It  was  the  sleuth,  Leach 
Sharkey,  who  alone  of  those  around  him  ventured 
to  break  the  news.  After  his  first  paroxysm  of 
wrath,  Thurston  paced  the  room  like  a  caged 
animal.  He  had  begun  to  make  a  confidant  of  this 
man,  his  constant  attendant,  the  protector  with 
the  handy  guns  in  his  hip  pockets  on  whom  he  had 
come  to  rely  night  and  day,  the  one  associate  who 
phlegmatically  endured  his  irritable  moods  and 
abusive  language. 

So,  in  Leach  Sharkey 's  presence,  Thurston, 
as  he  walked  to  and  fro,  spoke  his  thoughts 
aloud. 

"Damn  all  pretty  faces,  anyhow.  First  and  last 
they  have  cost  me  a  fine  sum.  And  now  it  is  a 
pretty  face  that  has  cost  me  my  boy's  life.  It's 
hell,  that's  what  it  is.  But  I  will  have  my  revenge. 
I'll  hang  Dick  Willoughby  with  my  own  hands  if 
necessary — even  if  it  is  the  last  act  of  my  life  I'll 
have  his  neck  stretched  for  him." 


A  DEBT  OF  HONOR  197 

He  was  glaring  down  at  the  sleuth,  and  the 
pause  seemed  to  call  for  some  reply. 

"Well,  he's  given  us  the  slip  for  the  present," 
Sharkey  ventured.  Then  he  caught  the  gathering 
fury  in  the  other's  eyes,  and  hurriedly  went  on: 
"But  there  is  no  question  in  the  world  we'll  run 
the  scoundrel  down.  I  myself  will  shoot  him  like 
the  dog  he  is  the  moment  I  lay  my  two  eyes  on 
him." 

"Well,  don't  waste  your  breath  telling  me  you 
are  going  to  do  it,"  growled  Thurston.  "Hunt 
him  down.  Take  all  the  money  you  need.  Get 
all  the  men  you  can.  Search  every  canyon. 
Guard  every  road  out  of  the  hill  country.  And 
don't  be  misled  by  that  damn  fool  talk  about  the 
White  Wolf  of  which  you've  been  telling  me. 
That  cursed  outlaw  is  dead — dead  as  a  herring. 
I  ran  the  story  of  his  death  to  earth — stood  on  his 
very  grave  in  the  potters'  field  at  Seattle.  Dick 
Willoughby's  the  outlaw  now.  Get  him  at  any 
cost.  Get  him,  or,  by  God,  lose  your  own  job, 
t Leach  Sharkey.  Do  you  follow  me?" 

"Oh,  I  follow  you,"  replied  the  sleuth,  a  sar 
donic  smile  still  further  exposing  the  teeth  that 
were  the  most  prominent  feature  of  his  face  and 
at  all  times  gave  him  a  hyena-like  appearance. 
"I'll  get  him,  make  no  mistake,  Mr.  Thurston. 


198       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Just  draw  me  that  check,  and  I'll  have  twenty 
more  men  out  on  the  range  before  morning." 

At  the  store,  Dick  Willoughby's  disappearance 
was  for  days  the  sole  topic  of  conversation.  One 
morning  Tom  Baker  and  Buck  Ashley  were  gos 
siping  together. 

"What  beats  me,"  remarked  the  storekeeper, 
"is  that  Chester  Munson  wears  such  a  spry  look. 
He  was  Dick's  closest  chum,  yet  he  don't  seem  to 
be  one  bit  anxious." 

"Oh,  he's  got  the  word,  make  no  mistake," 
replied  Tom.  "Although  the  lieutenant  is  as  close 
as  wax,  he  knows  Dick's  all  right,  for  sure.  And 
I'm  told  that  up  at  La  Siesta,  where  Dick  has  his 
girl,  you  know,  they're  still  a-playin'  the  pianner 
and  the  fiddle  all  the  time.  Mark  my  words — 
there's  been  some  wireless  telephone  at  work. 
Munson  don't  worry,  his  lady  friends  don't 
worry,  so  I  begin  to  think  we're  a  couple  of  derned 
old  fools  to  fret  ourselves  on  Dick's  account." 

"It's  about  Pierre  Luzon  I'm  frettin'  most," 
BuckAshley  rejoined.  "To  think  that  that 'damned 
Frenchman  should  have  done  us  in  the  eye,  got 
clean  away  and  robbed  us  of  our  share  of  the  buried 
treasure — that's  what  worries  me,  Tom  Baker. 
And  you'll  allow  now  you  made  a  mess  of  things  by 
not  havin'  the  old  convict  shackled  to  the  bedpost." 


A  DEBT  OF  HONOR  199 

"A  mess  of  things!"  cried  the  sheriff,  rising 
anger  in  his  voice  and  eyes.  "You  won't  keep 
your  mouth  shut  till  I  teach  you — " 

But  just  then  there  was  the  clatter  of  hoofs 
outside,  and  Tom  stopped  in  the  middle  of  his 
sentence.  A  moment  later  Munson  and  Jack 
Rover  entered  in  a  state  of  visible  excitement. 
Munson  carried  in  his  arms  a  rotund  canvas 
sack  tied  at  the  neck.  The  package  was  not  very 
big,  but  clearly  of  considerable  weight. 

"Great  Caesar,"  exclaimed  the  lieutenant, 
without  pausing  to  give  any  greeting.  *'A  most 
surprising  thing  has  happened.  When  I  awoke 
this  morning  I  found  this  bag  lying  on  my  table. 
And  what  do  you  think  it  contains?"  As  he  asked 
the  question  he  dumped  the  sack  on  the  counter 
with  a  heavy  thud. 

"You've  got  us  guessin',"  drawled  Tom. 

"Ten  thousand,  five  hundred  dollars  in  gold!" 
announced  Munson. 

"Good  Lord!"  ejaculated  the  sheriff  in  great 
surprise. 

Munson  went  on: 

"Five  thousand  dollars  are  for  the  French 
warder  at  San  Quentin  who  smuggled  Pierre 
Luzon's  letter  out  of  the  prison,  and  the  balance 
is  for  the  syndicate." 


200       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"What  syndicate?"  gasped  Buck,  for  the  mo 
ment  quite  bewildered. 

"The  Hidden  Treasure  Syndicate,  of  course," 
exclaimed  Jack  Rover.  "Pierre  Luzon  has  sent 
each  man  back  the  hundred  dollars  he  put  up  to 
get  him  out  of  the  pen,  and  five  thousand  dollars 
extra  to  divide  among  us." 

Buck  and  Tom  sprang  simultaneously  to  their 
feet. 

*  'Hooroosh ! ' '  shouted  the  sheriff.  ' '  I  always  knew 
there  was  no  yellow  streak  in  old  Pierre  Luzon." 

"And  I  always  said  I  liked  him,  too,"  observed 
Buck.  "But  come  into  the  parlor,  boys,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  cautious  look  around.  "Let's 
count  the  money." 

"And  divvy  it  up,"  added  Tom  eagerly.  "Gosh 
'Imighty,  boys!  I've  never  yet  seen  a  thousand 
dollars  in  gold  at  one  time  outside  a  bank  cashier's 
window.  And  to  think  there's  that  amount 
comin'  to  me  right  now!" 

"One  thousand,  one  hundred,  pal,  to  be  exact," 
laughed  Jack  Rover,  lifting  the  package  and  fol 
lowing  the  storekeeper  into  the  sanctum  beyond 
the  counter. 

The  gold  was  in  United  States  twenty-dollar 
pieces,  bearing  dates  which  showed  they  had  been 
minted  more  than  twenty  years  ago. 


A  DEBT  OF  HONOR  201 

"Some  of  Joaquin  Murietta's  loot,"  remarked 
Jack  Rover,  when  attention  had  been  drawn  to 
this  detail. 

"No,"  observed  Tom  Baker,  holding  up  the 
coin  he  had  been  examining,  "Marietta  wasn't 
alive  when  this  'ere  gold  piece  came  from  the  mint. 
This  is  some  of  Don  Manuel's  stuff." 

"The  White  Wolf!"  exclaimed  Munson. 

"Yes,  the  White  Wolf,"  continued  the  sheriff. 
"So  if  the  White  Wolf  ain't  dead,  as  Pierre  de 
clared  that  night — "  Tom  gazed  at  the  bedroom 
door  as  if  the  spectral  figure  might  reappear — 
"he's  honorin'  the  Frenchie's  sight  draft,  that's 
sure." 

"I  see,"  said  Munson.  "He  is  paying  the  five 
thousand  dollars  old  Pierre  promised  in  his  letter 
if  he  was  helped  to  freedom  and  five  thousand 
dollars  besides." 

"Precisely,"  Tom  Baker  replied.  "But  if  the 
White  Wolf  is  dead,  as  most  folks  say,  then  the 
Frenchie's  got  the  key  to  the  treasure  vault,  all 
right." 

"So  we've  got  to  get  him  back  here  again,  boys," 
murmured  Buck,  rubbing  his  hands  while  his  eyes 
feasted  upon  the  heap  of  gold.  "I  don't  mind 
boardin'  Pierre  Luzon  for  a  spell,  and  he  can  have 
all  the  bourbon  he  wants." 


202       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Till  he  tells  us  where  Guadalupe  gets  her 
nuggets,"  grinned  Jack.  "But  you've  forgotten 
to  show  'em,  Munson,  the  card  that  came  with 
the  coin." 

"Oh,  yes,"  rejoined  Munson,  drawing  a  small 
piece  of  pasteboard  from  his  pocket.  "It  is  brief 
enough.  Luzon  gives  his  countryman's  family 
address  in  Marseilles  where  the  first  five  thousand 
dollars  is  to  be  mailed.  Then  he  writes  down  our 
five  names,  Dick  Willoughby's  first,  and  says  the 
five  of  us  are  to  share  equally."  He  passed  the 
card  to  Tom  Baker  for  inspection,  and  went  on: 
"Jack  and  I  are  going  to  ride  over  to  Bakersfield, 
get  the  French  bank  draft  and  put  Dick's  money 
in  the  bank  along  with  our  own." 

"Where's  Dick?"  asked  Buck,  with  a  quick  up 
lift  of  his  eyes  into  Munson 's  face. 

But  the  latter  was  not  to  be  betrayed  into 
divulging  any  information  that  might  be  in  his 
possession. 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  idea,"  he  replied 
airily.  "But  I  feel  sure  Dick's  all  right.  He  is  the 
sort  of  fellow  well  able  to  look  after  himself. 
Meanwhile,  Jack  and  I  will  attend  to  his  financial 
interests,"  he  added  with  a  laugh,  as  he  began  to 
count  the  gold. 

In  silence  the  task  proceeded,  five  thousand 


A  DEBT  OF  HONOR  203 

dollars  first  being  set  aside,  and  then  the  balance 
divided  into  five  separate  heaps.  When  all  were 
satisfied  as  to  the  correctness  of  the  distribution, 
Munson  swept  the  gold  back  into  the  sack,  except 
for  the  two  little  piles  allotted  to  Ashley  and  Baker. 
Then  he  securely  tied  the  package,  ready  for  the 
ride  to  Bakersfield. 

"Buck  will  lock  mine  in  his  safe,  boys,"  ex 
claimed  Tom  Baker.  "Gosh  me,  but  I'll  want  to 
look  at  it  two  or  three  times  a  day." 

"Oh,  I'm  drivin'  over  to  the  bank  myself 
tomorrer,"  declared  Buck.  "I've  got  a  bit  more 
to  add  to  this  pile." 

"A  few  handfuls  of  nuggets,  I  suppose,"  laughed 
Rover. 

"Well,  I'll  allow  Guadalupe  always  pays  her 
grocery  bills.  But  this  'ere  store  ain't  goin'  to  be 
a  safe  deposit  vault,  not  on  your  derned  life,  with 
bandits  around  again.  So  you'd  better  arrange 
to  come  with  me  to  town  tomorrer,  Tom." 

"You'll  need  me  to  help  you  home,  perhaps," 
grinned  the  sheriff.  "But,  I  say,  Munson,  you 
ain't  told  us  yet  how  this  sack  came  to  be  delivered 
at  your  place." 

"There's  a  proper  mystery  for  you!"  cried 
Munson.  "As  I  said  before,  I  found  the  bag  this 
morning,  lying  on  my  dressing  table.  Sing  Ling 


204       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

was  the  only  one  besides  myself  in  the  shack,  and 
he  never  heard  a  sound  all  night." 

"You're  still  in  Dick's  old  home?"  asked  Buck. 

"Yes,  but  I  leave  tomorrow — have  notice  to 
quit,  for  some  surveyor  chaps  are  coming  in.  I'm 
moving  up  to  Mr.  Robles'  place.  He  wants  me 
to  catalog  the  books  in  his  library." 

"And  Sing  Ling?"  queried  Tom. 

"He  goes,  too.  You  see,  Mr.  Robles  needs  a 
crackerjack  cook,  now  I'll  be  boarding  with  him," 
Munson  laughed,  gaily.  "You  don't  happen  to 
have  a  porterhouse  steak  about  the  place,  Buck?" 

"I  can  heat  you  up  a  can  of  pork  and  beans." 

"Nothing  doing!  Jack  and  I  wouldn't  spoil  our 
appetites  with  such  truck  as  that.  We're  going  to 
set  up  a  chicken  dinner  in  Bakersfield." 

"Chicken  and  champagne,"  chimed  in  Jack,  as 
he  swung  the  sack  over  his  shoulder. 

"You're  beginning  to  get  big  bugs  these  days," 
called  out  the  storekeeper  as  the  young  men  left 
the  room.  "Guess,  Tom,"  he  went  on,  turning  to 
the  sheriff,  "we  could  do  with  a  jolt  of  Kentucky." 

"Make  it  a  bottle  of  bourbon,"  gurgled  Tom,  "to 
remind  us  of  our  absent  friend." 

"Dear  old  Pierre,"  murmured  Buck,  as  he  fum 
bled  in  his  pocket  for  the  key  of  the  safe,  his  eyes 
glued  all  the  time  on  the  two  little  heaps  of  gold. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
Underground  Wonders 

DICK  WILLOUGHBY  was  in  a  way  happy 
in  his  retreat.  At  first  he  had  been  in 
clined  to  regret  the  jail  delivery — it  might 
have  been  the  manlier  part  to  have  faced  the  music 
and  cleared  his  name  before  the  whole  world. 
But  then  he  reflected  on  the  uncertainties  of  a 
trial,  the  cases  of  innocent  men  having  suffered 
because  of  damning  circumstantial  evidence  piled 
up  against  them,  the  vindictiveness  of  Ben  Thurs- 
ton  and  the  undoubted  power  of  his  money  to 
press  the  criminal  charge  by  every  unscrupulous 
means.  So  Dick  soon  came  round  to  the  belief 
that  he  might  be  safer  for  the  time  being  in  the 
guardianship  of  the  White  Wolf  than  at  the  mercy 
of  a  fallible  jury. 

Then  there  was  Merle  Farnsworth  to  consider. 
Yes;  to  have  brought  her  into  a  public  court,  to 
have  allowed  her  to  plead  for  him  by  telling  the 
story  of  Marshall  Thurston's  loathsome  advances 
— 1that  was  a  thing  that  could  never  have  been 
tolerated.  The  leader  of  the  jail-breaking  gang 

(205) 


206       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

had  been  right;  Dick  owed  it  to  Merle  to  save  her 
from  such  a  cruel  ordeal. 

Finally  Dick's  contentment  over  his  change  of 
quarters  was  completed  when  Pierre  Luzon  ap 
peared  with  a  superb  equipment  of  drawing 
instruments  and  materials.  There  was  no  time 
to  worry  now  over  surmises  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
this  course  or  the  other  course.  Work  lay  to  his 
hand — work  of  the  most  absorbing  and  delightful 
kind;  and  with  all  the  ambitious  enthusiasm  of 
his  temperament  he  tackled  it  whole-heartedly 
there  and  then.  Hour  after  hour,  day  after  day, 
Pierre  watched  in  contemplative  silence  the 
methodical  advancement  of  the  task  to  which  the 
young  architect  had  applied  himself. 

But  there  were  frequent  intervals  for  conversa 
tion,  sometimes  in  French,  sometimes  in  English, 
as  the  mood  prompted.  Occasionally  Pierre 
drifted  into  semi-confidential  reminiscences,  and 
Willoughby  soon  came  to  know  in  close  detail  the 
story  of  Don  Manuel's  life — the  tragedy  of  his 
sister  Rosetta's  death,  the  vow  of  vengeance 
against  Ben  Thurston,  the  early  bandit  days  when 
the  White  Wolf  counted  every  gringo  in  the  land 
his  natural  enemy,  the  often  hairbreadth  escapes 
of  the  outlaw,  his  sublime  courage  and  nerve  in  the 
direst  emergencies. 


UNDERGROUND  WONDERS        207 

"Don  Manuel  was  one  great  man,"  remarked 
Pierre  at  the  close  of  one  of  these  confidences — 
the  phrase  was  a  favorite  one  with  the  old  French 
man.  "Many  and  many  a  time  he  could  have  shot 
his  enemy  from  a  distance  and  got  away.  But 
Don  Manuel  had  vowed  zat  he  would  kill  him 
hand  to  hand — zat  ze  villain  must  die  with  a  last 
malediction  in  his  ear,  and  knowing  zat  it  was  he, 
ze  White  Wolf,  who  in  ze  end  had  revenged  his 
sister's  shame." 

"He  felt,  too,  didn't  he,  that  his  father  had 
been  wronged  in  being  driven  from  San  Antonio 
Rancho?" 

"Sure — zat  was  another  great  wrong — zat  was 
why  Don  Manuel  was  so  bitter  against  all  ze 
Americans.  But  he  made  zem  pay  for  ze  land 
many  and  many  times  over."  Then  Pierre,  as 
was  now  his  custom  in  Dick's  presence  when 
speaking  at  any  length,  lapsed  into  French  as  he 
continued:  "But  the  White  Wolf  was  a  man  of 
high  honor.  He  never  used  any  of  the  proceeds  of 
his  robberies  for  himself.  True,  he  spent  the  money 
to  pay  his  band,  to  pay  the  numerous  scouts  and 
spies  whose  services  he  secretly  retained,  to  plan 
and  accomplish  further  hold-ups,  to  defy  and  out 
wit  the  authorities.  But  on  iiis  own  needs — never 
— not  one  dollar!" 


A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 


Pierre  went  on  to  explain  that  after  Ben  Thurs- 
ton  had  fled  from  California  and  kept  away  in 
hiding,  Don  Manuel  had  visited  Spain,  to  claim 
the  family  estates  in  Valencia  to  which  his  father's 
death  had  left  him  the  sole  heir.  These  he  had 
sold  for  many  millions  of  dollars,  and  most  of  that 
money  he  kept  in  banks  in  London  and  Paris.  So 
he  was  a  very  rich  man,  and  had  no  need  to  rob 
anyone  except  to  gratify  his  vengeance.  Even 
the  hoarded  gold  of  Joaquin  Murietta  he  had  never 
touched.  It  remained  intact  today  in  the  treasure 
vault  of  the  cave,  boxes  and  sacks  of  gold  and 
jewels. 

"Won't  I  be  allowed  to  see  this  wonderful 
treasure?"  asked  Dick,  half  jesting. 

"Perhaps,  some  day,  if  the  White  Wolf  chooses 
to  show  you.  But  it  is  not  for  me  to  do  that — I 
swore  an  oath  of  secrecy  when  the  White  Wolf 
trusted  me — me  and  Felix  Vasquez,  who  was  also 
his  confidant.  But  Vasquez  was  killed  at  Tulare 
Lake.  So  now  only  we  two  know  the  secret,  and 
until  the  White  Wolf  himself  dies  my  lips  are  sealed 
by  the  solemn  oath  I  swore  to  the  Virgin  Mary." 

The  old  man  crossed  himself  devoutly. 

"Then  where  does  the  White  Wolf  live  now?" 

"Ah,  that  is  another  secret.  Again  I  would 
break  my  oath  if  I  spoke  one  word." 


UNDERGROUND  WONDERS        209 

"And  Guadalupe — does  she  know  these  things?" 
asked  Dick  in  English. 

"Guadalupe?  Oh,  no,"  responded  Pierre, 
politely  adopting  the  change  of  language,  "she 
is  just  one  servant,  our  cook — one  very  excellent 
cook,  as  monsieur  knows — and  ze  guardian  of 
ze  cave.  For  ze  real  white  wolf  guards  Guadalupe 
— ze  big  animal  is  just  like  one  tame  dog  to  ze 
old  squaw,  but  with  his  fierce  jaws  he  would  kill 
anyone  who  dared  to  approach  her  or  come  near  ze 
hidden  entrance  to  zis  cavern.  No  man  can  ever 
find  zat  while  ze  white  wolf  is  alive.  In  ze  old 
days  he  killed  several  men  when  zey  dared  to 
follow  Guadalupe." 

"Then  the  white  wolf  must  be  very  old?" 

"As  old  as  Guadalupe — as  old  as  the  Tehachapi 
mountains,"  exclaimed  Pierre,  again  crossing  him 
self  and  thereby  revealing  the  superstitious  dread 
in  which  he  held  the  savage  animal. 

"But  you  can  pass  the  white  wolf,  can't  you?' 
asked  Dick. 

"Never — except  when  Guadalupe  give  permis 
sion.  Then  ze  wolf  lies  down  and  I  can  come  out 
of  ze  cave  or  enter.  Ah!  ze  white  wolf  is  one 
terrible  beast.  But  he  never  shows  his  teeth  to 
Don  Manuel.  Only  Don  Manuel  can  pass  when 
Guadalupe  is  not  there." 


210       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Then  where  is  Guadampe's  riffle  of  gold — where 
is  the  lake  of  oil  about  which  you  told  TomBaker?" 

"Come,  I  will  show  you  zese,"  replied  Pierre. 
As  he  rose  he  picked  up  the  lantern  he  usually 
carried. 

Dick  jumped  to  his  feet  with  alacrity  and  fol 
lowed  his  guide. 

They  crossed  the  main  cavern,  then  entered 
another  side  gallery.  This  had  many  windings 
and  from  it  ran  several  diverging  rock  corridors. 
But  Pierre  led  the  way  unfalteringly. 

Fully  hah*  a  mile  must  have  been  traversed 
when  at  last  the  Frenchman  halted  and  swung 
his  lantern  aloft. 

"Zere!"  was  all  he  said. 

Dick  followed  the  flash  of  the  lantern,  and  there 
before  him  was  a  dark  pool  stretching  away  in 
definitely  into  the  blackness  beyond.  He  bent 
down  and  scooped  up  a  little  of  the  fluid  in  his 
palm.  It  was  a  brown  oil,  as  thin  as  water,  and 
therefore  capable  of  use  without  any  refining 
process. 

"Great  Scott,  this  is  wonderful!"  exclaimed 
Dick  in  profound  amazement. 

"Very  wonderful,"  concurred  Pierre.  "In  zis 
cavern  are  oil  and  water,  also  gold — Guadalupe's 
gold.  Ze  gold  is  close  to  here.  Come." 


UNDERGROUND  WONDERS         211 

Pierre  turned  and  again  led  the  way  through 
dark  and  winding  corridors.  At  a  little  distance 
Dick  became  conscious  of  the  purling  of  a  running 
stream.  Pierre  stopped  once  more,  but  this  time 
held  the  lantern  close  to  the  ground. 

"Here  Guadalupe  come  to  wash  out  ze  nuggets  of 
gold,  and  since  I  have  been  in  prison  she  buy  with 
zem,  so  Mr.  Baker  say  to  me,  groceries  at  ze  store. 
Don  Manuel,  when  I  tell  him,  he  very  angry — 
she  never  do  zat  again." 

"Poor  old  Buck  Ashley!"  laughed  Dick.  "He 
lost  you,  Pierre,  and  now  he'll  be  losing  his  best- 
paying  customer,  too." 

While  speaking,  he  knelt  and  dipped  his  hands 
into  the  stream,  bringing  up  some  gravel  into  the 
lantern  rays.  But  Pierre  shook  his  head. 

"You  no  find  ze  gold.  Guadalupe  wash  many 
hours  to  get,  perhaps,  just  one  nugget.  But  there 
is  heaps  and  heaps,  if  ze  miners  came  with  spades 
and  cradles." 

"Great  guns,  there  must  be  the  reef,  too, 
from  which  the  nuggets  have  come!"  exclaimed 
Dick,  rising  erect  and  dropping  the  handful  of 
pebbles. 

"Now,  we  must  go  back,"  said  Pierre,  "for  zis 
evening  you  are  to  be  allowed  to  come  for  a  ride 
with  me  down  ze  mountains." 


212       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"You  don't  say?"  Dick  cried,  surprised  and 
delighted. 

"Yes;  Don  Manuel  he  send  word  today  that  he 
give  permission.  But  you  must  wear  ze  bandage 
round  your  eyes,  and  you  must  promise  to  return 
when  I  give  ze  word." 

"Don't  for  one  moment  think,  old  fellow,  that 
I  would  leave  my  drawings.  But  where  are  we 
going  tonight?" 

"To  La  Siesta,"  replied  Pierre. 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  Dick.  "Hurry  up,  Pierre! 
I'm  mighty  glad  you  got  me  those  ties  and  things 
from  Los  Angeles.  You  say  you  can  give  me  a 
hair-cut?" 

"Ze  old-time  bandit  learned  to  trim  ze  hair  of 
his  friends  as  well  as  ze  pocket-books  of  his 
enemies,"  was  the  laughing  answer. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

The  Unexpected  Visitor 

MOST  of  the  cattle  had  been  driven  off  the 
land.  The  vaqueros  had  dispersed  to 
the  four  points  of  the  compass.  Chester 
Munson  had  vacated  his  room  in  Dick  Wil- 
loughby's  old  home,  and  had  taken  up  his  resi 
dence  and  library  duties  at  Mr.  Robles'  mansion 
on  the  hill.  Sing  Ling  had  folded  his  tent  like 
the  Arab  and  silently  stolen  away  in  the  same 
direction.  A  small  army  of  surveyors  had  ap 
peared  on  the  scene  and  were  quartered  in  the 
rancho  buildings. 

The  only  one  of  the  old-timers  who  still  lingered 
on  was  Ben  Thurston,  more  gloomy  and  morose 
than  ever,  seldom  stirring  out  of  doors  now,  but 
conducting  all  his  business  by  telephone  or  through 
the  agency  of  the  sleuth,  Leach  Sharkey,  his 
only  companion. 

Jack  Rover  had  pitched  his  camp  temporarily 
at  the  store.  Buck  Ashley  had  assigned  him 
Pierre's  cot,  but  the  cowboy  had  fixed  it  under 
a  wide-spreading  sycamore,  preferring  to  sleep  in 

(213) 


214       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  open  rather  than  share  the  grocery-perfumed 
atmosphere  of  the  store  building. 

Tom  Baker  was  around  most  of  the  time.  The 
three  men  clung  together  with  a  vague  sense  that 
they  had  a  common  interest  in  the  vast  treasure 
which  had  so  far  eluded  them,  but  which  might 
any  day  come  again  within  reach  of  their  eager 
claws.  It  afforded  an  endless  theme  of  conver 
sation,  varied  by  talk  about  the  passing  of  the 
rancho  and  all  the  train  of  changes  which  were 
bound  to  follow  the  close  settlement  of  the 
valley. 

One  morning  Jack  Rover  found  Buck  at  the 
door  of  the  store,  with  a  pair  of  antiquated-looking 
field  glasses  at  his  eyes. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  goggles,  Buck?"  asked 
Jack. 

"Oh,  I  rummaged  'em  out  of  a  trunk — had 
almost  forgot  I  had  the  blamed  things.  But  we 
used  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  in  the  old  bandit 
days — got  kinda  ready  for  any  suspicious  lookin' 
riders  on  the  road."  He  had  spoken  while  still 
peering  through  the  binoculars,  but  now  he  turned 
to  Jack  and  proffered  him  the  glasses.  "I  do 
wonder  what  'n  hell  we're  all  comin'  to  anyway. 
This  here  ranch  that  we've  bragged  up  as  bein* 
the  biggest  in  all  California!  Ugh!"  The  grunt 


THE  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR        215 

was  one  of  unspeakable  disgust.  "Take  a  look 
for  yourself." 

Jack  turned  the  glasses  in  the  direction  Buck 
had  been  gazing,  and  began  to  adjust  the  focus. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  he  asked. 

"Matter  'nough,"  growled  the  storekeeper. 
"San  Antonio  Rancho  is  goin'  to  the  dogs.  Do 
you  see  them  specks  away  out  yonder  in  the 
valley?  That's  another  band  of  surveyors.  One 
feller's  peekin'  through  a  spy -glass  set  on  a  tripod; 
another  feller  goes  ahead  and  puts  up  tall  stakes 
with  big  figgers  on  'em,  and  the  other  fellers  are 
chainin'  off  the  distances.  This  'ere  ranch  '11 
surely  look  like  a  checker-board  blamed  soon." 

"Progress,"  said  Jack,  laconically. 

"Progress,  hell!"  snapped  Ashley.  "These  new 
fellers  that  bought  the  ranch  have  sure  'nuff  driv* 
off  all  the  cattle  and  now  they're  dividin'  up  the 
land.  I  bet  they'll  take  the  postoffice  away 
from  me — not  that  it  pays  much,  for  the  Lord 
knows  it  don't — but  it  brings  customers  to  my 
store." 

"Well,  Buck,"  said  the  cowboy,  consolingly, 
"there  are  lots  worse  things  than  moving  a  post- 
office.  What's  to  prevent  your  setting  up  the 
finest  grocery  store  in  the  new  model  city  the 
advertisements  speak  about?" 


216       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"That  would  suit  me  fine,  wouldn't  it?"  cried 
the  old  storekeeper,  with  scathing  contempt. 
"Goin'  around  in  a  biled  shirt,  and  handin'  out 
pencils  and  chewin'  gum  to  the  little  school  gals 
that'll  be  swarmin'  all  over  the  place.  Not  on 
your  life,  Jack!  I'll  be  losin'  both  my  postoffice 
and  my  store  in  these  new-fangled  times."  He 
paused  a  moment,  then  his  tone  changed  to  one 
of  aggressiveness.  "However,  they  ain't  built 
their  doggoned  new  town  yet,  and  it's  my  belief 
all  this  boom  talk  is  just  so  much  hot  air." 

"In  any  case  you  won't  need  to  worry,  Buck, 
after  we  get  on  the  tracks  of  Pierre  Luzon  again. 
I  intend  to  find  the  old  squaw's  sand-bar,  or  my 
name  isn't  Jack  Rover." 

"And  I  betche  I'm  a-goin'  to  find  Joaquin 
Marietta's  cache,"  concurred  the  old  man  with 
equal  determination. 

Just  then  Tom  Baker  slouched  out  of  the  store, 
where  he  had  overheard  the  conversation. 

"Oh,  things  are  a-goin'  to  turn  out  all  right  in 
the  end,  boys,  don't  fret  over  that.  And  there's 
one  thing  gol-dern  certain,  there'll  be  some  great 
things  doin'  in  this  'ere  valley  once  they  get 
started  on  buildin'  the  town.  The  new  place 
will  just  spring  up  like  Oklahomy  City,  or  Liberal, 
Kansas,  or  some  of  them  big  towns  that  had 


THE  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR        217 

twenty  thousand  people  livin'  in  'em  inside  o' 
thirty  days  from  the  time  they  were  surveyed  and 
laid  out." 

"That  seems  quite  impossible,"  commented 
Jack. 

"Not  impossible  by  a  derned  sight.  My 
brother  was  at  Liberal,  Kansas,  down  there  on  the 
Rock  Island,  near  No  Man's  Land,  you  know. 
The  new  town  had  been  talked  of  and  talked  of 
for  mebbe  three  or  four  months,  just  as  this  new 
town  is  bein'  talked  about  today.  Then  finally 
the  mornin'  came  when  the  new  town  of  Liberal 
was  to  be  opened  up.  There  was  to  be  a  regular 
town  openin',  so  to  speak,  and  a  sale  of  lots. 
Why,  great  guns,  when  the  management  of  that 
town  company  rode  into  the  station,  on  the 
early  train,  they  found  more'n  ten  thousand 
people  right  there  campin'  in  covered  wagons, 
tents  and  all  that  sorta  business,  just  awaitin' 
for  the  auctioneerin'  to  start." 

Tom  paused  to  take  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco 
and  then  rambled  on: 

"I  tell  you,  boys,  that  within  thirty  days  there 
was  twenty  thousand  people  livin'  in  that  'ere 
town.  Two  banks  were  established,  and  one  of 
them  had  one  hundred  and  eighty-five  thousand 
dollars  in  deposits,  too.  Oh,  there's  lots  of 


218       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

people  who  remember  the  rush  to  Liberal,  and 
the  boomin'  of  Oklahomy  City  also.  And 
history's  fixin'  to  repeat  itself  right  here  on  this 
'ere  ranch.  Things  will  be  sizzlin'  when  the 
town  site  is  finally  located  and  the  rush  starts 
pourin'  in  from  Portland,  Oregon,  on  the  north,  to 
San  Diego  on  the  south,  with  a  few  thousands 
from  Texas  and  other  states  this  side  o'  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  They'll  sure  be  great  doin's 
when  the  Los  Angeles  syndicate  announce  they've 
awarded  to  some  feller  that  ten-thousand-dollar 
prize  for  the  best  plans  for  their  ideal  city,  as  they 
keep  on  callin'  it." 

"Munson  and  I  were  speaking  about  the  con 
test  and  the  prize,"  remarked  Jack,  "and  were 
saying  that  if  Dick  Willoughby  were  only  here, 
he'd  about  win,  hands  down.  You  know  he  was 
an  architect  once,  before  he  came  West." 

"Dick  Willoughby,"  snorted  Ashley,  "How 
can  he  compete  when  he  don't  know  anything 
about  the  blamed  business?  He's  hid  away, 
right  enough." 

"Munson  knows  a  thing  or  two,"  remarked 
Tom  Baker.  "If  he'd  only  speak,  he  could  tell 
us  where  Dick  is.  That's  my  opinion." 

"And  there  once  again  you're  dead  wrong," 
retorted  Jack,  warmly.  "If  Munson  only  knew 


THE  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR       219 

where  Dick  is  hiding,  he  would  have  got  that  very 
prize  competition  advertisement  into  his  hands 
long  before  now.  He's  sore  because  he  can't 
send  Dick  the  word.  Where  is  Dick  Willoughby? 
By  gad,  it's  a  mystery." 

"I  guess  you're  right,"  said  the  sheriff.  "That 
sort  o'  exonerates  Munson  from  keepin'  things 
from  his  partners.  I  think  I  owe  it  to  Chester 
Munson  to  drink  his  health — just  for  ever  doubtin' 
him.  What  shall  it  be,  boys?" 

And  the  open-air  meeting  adjourned. 

It  was  the  very  evening  of  the  day  on  which 
this  conversation  had  been  held  in  Buck  Ashley's 
store  that  Dick  Willoughby  rode  forth  from  the 
cavern  blindfolded  and  under  the  guidance  of 
Pierre  Luzon.  For  the  first  hour  progress  was 
slow — round  many  turnings,  down  steep  declivi 
ties,  with  just  here  and  there  a  few  miles  of  easier 
trail.  But  then  there  had  been  a  swift  canter 
for  another  hour  over  grass  land,  and  now  at  last 
the  riders  were  upon  a  well-made  road.  Dick 
divined  that  this  must  be  the  highway  leading 
to  La  Siesta,  but  from  what  point  of  the 
compass  they  had  come  he  had  not  the  remotest 
conception. 

Very  soon  Pierre  Luzon,  still  riding  ahead  with 
the  leading  rein,  came  to  a  halt. 


220       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Here  we  are.  Dismount,  please,"  he  said. 
"You  are  free  to  remove  ze  bandage." 

Dick  looked;  they  were  right  below  the  knoll 
on  which  the  Darlington  home  stood.  Lights 
were  gleaming  from  the  windows.  Dick  could 
even  hear  the  faint  tinkle  of  the  piano. 

"I  hide  ze  ponies  here  in  zis  little  grove  of 
trees,"  Pierre  continued,  pointing  to  a  coppice 
not  fifty  yards  from  the  main  road.  "In  two 
hours'  time,  at  eleven  o'clock" — Pierre  looked  at 
his  watch  in  the  bright  moonlight — "monsieur 
will  return.  I  have  your  word?" 

"My  word  as  a  gentleman,  Pierre,"  exclaimed 
Dick,  extending  his  hand.  "So  long  then,  old 
fellow.  I've  got  to  make  the  best  use  of  my  time." 

The  piano  playing  stopped  abruptly  when 
Willoughby,  unannounced,  appeared  at  the  door 
of  the  music  room. 

"Dick!"  exclaimed  Merle  delightedly,  leaving 
the  instrument  and  rushing  toward  him.  If 
they  had  been  alone  Dick  felt  that  right  then  she 
would  have  jumped  into  his  arms.  But  at  the 
distance  of  a  few  paces  she  halted  and  clasped  her 
hands. 

"How  ever  did  you  get  here,  Mr.  Willoughby?" 
she  asked  intensely. 

"I   rode  here,"   he   answered,   as   they   shook 


THE  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR       221 

hands.  "But  it  is  only  a  brief  visit.  Hallo, 
Miss  Grace!  I'm  delighted  to  see  you  again. 
And  you,  Ches,  old  sport — why  this  is  great  luck 
to  find  you  here!  Mrs.  Darlington,  I'm  mighty 
glad  to  see  you  all  once  more." 

The  whole  bevy  were  crowding  around  him, 
shaking  hands  and  expressing  their  joyful  surprise. 

"We  knew  you  were  safe,  that  was  all,"  ex 
plained  Munson. 

"So  you  were  having  just  the  same  jolly  good 
times,"  laughed  Dick,  glancing  at  the  piano. 
"I'm  simply  dying  for  some  music." 

"But  wait  a  minute,"  exclaimed  Munson, 
drawing  a  fat  wad  of  newspaper  cuttings  from  his 
pocket.  "I've  got  to  tell  you  about  a  competition 
you  must  get  into — new  plans  for  an  ideal  city 
here—" 

"In  the  heart  of  the  old  rancho,"  smiled  Dick, 
as  he  completed  the  sentence.  While  he  spoke, 
he  placed  his  arm  affectionately  across  his  chum's 
shoulders.  "I  know  all  about  it,  old  man.  I'm 
working  hard  on  my  plans — they  are  already 
more  than  half  done." 

"Bravo!"  shouted  Munson.  "That's  great 
news." 

"But  here,  too,  is  Mr.  Robles,"  exclaimed 
Dick,  breaking  from  the  group  and  stepping 


222       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

across  the  room.  "Excuse  me,  senor,  but  I  did 
not  notice  you  were  here  till  this  moment." 

"No  excuse  needed,  my  friend.  You  were 
better  engaged" — this  with  a  humorous  side- 
glance  at  the  young  ladies.  "But  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  looking  so  well." 

"Where  have  you  been,  Mr.  Willoughby?" 
asked  Grace. 

"That  I  cannot  tell  you,"  replied  Dick  gravely. 
"I  have  pledged  my  solemn  word.  I  must  leave 
you  at  eleven  o'clock,  returning  whence  I  came. 
And  meanwhile  nobody  must  ask  me  a  single 
question  about  my  place  of  hiding.  There  now — 
that's  all.  What  shall  it  be  first,  Miss  Merle, 
a  piano  solo  or  a  duet  with  the  violin?" 

"Supper,  I  should  say,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dar 
lington,  as  she  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
In  a  Tight  Corner 

DICK'S  after-dark  visit  to  La  Siesta  was 
only  the  first  of  several  that  followed  at 
intervals  of  a  few  days.  He  came  and 
departed  mysteriously,  and  during  his  brief  stay 
every  precaution  was  taken  that  no  one  except 
his  few  trusted  friends  should  know  of  his  pres 
ence.  But  by  some  means  or  other  a  whisper  had 
reached  the  ear  of  the  sleuth,  Leach  Sharkey, 
that  the  fugitive  had  been  seen  at  the  home  of 
Mrs.  Darlington. 

When  the  news  was  imparted  to  Ben  Thurston, 
the  old  man  quivered  from  excitement. 

"At  La  Siesta,  do  you  tell  me?  Let  us  ride  over 
there  at  once,  and  search  the  place  from  base 
ment  to  attic." 

"No,  no,"  replied  Sharkey.  "I've  got  my 
scouts  out.  Don't  you  worry.  We  must  wait 
till  the  night  bird  comes  back.  Then  we'll  trap 
him  like  a  fat  quail." 

"All  right.  Have  my  automobile  ready,  and 
a  bunch  of  well-armed  fellows  right  here,  so  that 

(223) 


224       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

we  can  make  a  rush  over  at  a  moment's  notice. 
By  God,  I've  been  disappointed  in  everything 
else — lost  my  son,  lost  my  ranch,  lost  my  home. 
But  I'm  not  going  to  lose  that  man.  I'm  going 
to  get  him,  even  if  we  shoot  him  down  on  sight 
as  an  outlawed  fugitive  from  justice  with  a  price 
on  his  head." 

"We'll  get  him,"  answered  Sharkey,  with  a  grim 
smile.  "You  may  count  him  a  dead  bird.  I 
guessed  he  wouldn't  keep  away  from  his  girl 
very  long." 

"His  girl!  Curse  her — it  was  she  who  lured  my 
son  to  his  death.  But  I'll  be  avenged.  If  she 
has  been  harboring  an  outlaw,  she,  too,  has  broken 
the  law  and  shall  go  to  jail." 

"Well,  she  no  doubt  thinks  him  innocent," 
suggested  the  sleuth. 

"Innocent!  All  women  are  alike — treacherous 
devils  at  heart.  I  would  give  them  the  vote — 
yes,  but  the  rope  at  the  same  time,"  he  went  on, 
growling  in  savage  incoherence. 

And  Sharkey,  knowing  that  discussion  or 
contradiction  only  added  fresh  fuel  to  his  vile 
temper,  left  him  alone. 

At  last,  a  few  nights  later,  a  rider  dashed  up  to 
Ben  Thurston's  house  with  the  news  that  Dick 
Willoughby  had  been  seen  entering  La  Siesta, 


IN  A  TIGHT  CORNER  225 

and  that,  following  Sharkey's  instructions,  every 
avenue  of  escape  was  now  guarded. 

"Hurry,  hurry!  I've  got  to  be  in  at  the  death," 
fairly  screamed  the  old  man. 

Five  minutes  later  the  big  seven-passenger 
automobile,  carrying  three  or  four  armed  men 
besides  its  owner  and  his  personal  guard,  Leach 
Sharkey,  was  devouring  the  twenty  miles  of  road 
that  lay  between  the  two  ranch  homes. 

That  evening  the  four  young  people  were  quietly 
chatting  in  the  cosy  corner  on  the  interior  verandah 
— the  comfortable  little  nook  fixed  up  with  rugs 
and  tapestries  and  oriental  divans.  It  was 
summer  now,  and  after  a  sultry  day  the  night  air 
was  sweet  and  balmy.  Willoughby  was  smoking 
a  cigar  in  languid  contentment  with  his  surround 
ings,  when  all  at  once  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

Tia  Teresa  had  rushed  in,  frantic  with  excite 
ment. 

"A  great  big  automobile  is  coming  along  the 
road,"  she  cried,  "and  there  are  men  watching  out 
side  the  portico.  Come  with  me,"  she  went  on, 
addressing  Dick.  "I  know  where  your  horses  are 
hid.  I  can  take  you  by  a  secret  path  through 
the  oleanders." 

Dick  vaguely  wondered  why  the  duenna  should 
know  anything  about  his  mode  of  coming.  But 


226       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

there  was  no  time  to  question,  for  just  then  there 
came  the  sound  of  voices  outside. 

Mrs.  Darlington,  pale  and  agitated,  emerged 
from  the  drawing  room. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"I  guess  I'm  trapped,"  replied  Dick  quietly. 
"No  doubt  it's  old  Thurston.  There  will  be 
shooting  if  I  resist.  So  there  is  nothing  for  it 
but  to  surrender." 

"No,  no,"  exclaimed  Merle.  "I  dread  that 
vindictive  man.  He  must  never  get  you  in  his 
power  again.  We  must  gain  time  to  smuggle 
you  out  of  the  house.  I  have  it.  Tia  Teresa — 
give  me  your  mantilla  and  your  cloak.  Quick, 
quick!" 

A  first  loud  knocking  had  come  on  the  door 
at  the  head  of  the  portico  steps.  The  duenna 
in  a  moment  had  divested  herself  of  her  loose 
black  robe  and  heavy  lace  veil. 

"Get  something  else  to  wear  and  meet  us  at 
the  oleanders,"  continued  Merle,  taking  the  gar 
ments  from  Tia  Teresa.  "Put  these  on,  Dick, 
and  sit  right  there  in  that  corner.  Mr.  Munson, 
turn  off  two  or  three  of  the  lights.  Mother,  dear, 
control  yourself.  Take  this  book  and  be  reading. 
Now,  that  will  do.  They  will  be  here  in  a  moment." 

A  second  knock  had  been  heard,  and  now  they 


IN  A  TIGHT  CORNER  227 

knew  that  the  door  was  being  opened  without 
further  ceremony,  for  at  placid  La  Siesta  there 
were  no  bolts  or  bars  against  unwelcome  visitors. 

In  that  brief  minute  a  wonderful  transformation 
scene  had  taken  place  in  the  cosy  corner.  Tia 
Teresa  had  disappeared.  Munson  was  stretched 
on  a  sofa,  puffing  his  cigar.  Merle  and  Grace 
had  been  playing  patience  during  the  afternoon 
and  had  left  the  cards  in  scattered  confusion. 
Mrs.  Darlington,  beneath  the  single  incandescent 
aglow,  was  quietly  reading.  From  the  darksome 
corner  the  pretended  duenna  surveyed  this  peace 
ful  scene  of  domesticity. 

It  was  Ben  Thurston  himself  who  led  the  way 
for  his  swarm  of  myrmidons. 

He  began  without  formality;  his  tone  was 
coarse  and  rude. 

"We  want  the  outlaw,  Dick  Willoughby.  We 
know  he  is  here.  So  make  no  fuss.  Deliver 
him  over." 

Mrs.  Darlington  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and 
Munson,  too,  had  sprung  erect. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  lady  with 
quiet  dignity. 

"You  know  darned  well  what  I  mean." 

Munson  stepped  forward,  but  he  played  the 
game  best  by  keeping  himself  under  perfect  control. 


228       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"You  will  speak  civilly,  Mr.  Thurston,  or  leave 
this  house.  What  is  wanted?"  he  added,  turning 
to  Leach  Sharkey. 

"We  want  Dick  Willoughby,  of  course,"  the 
sleuth  replied,  politely  enough.  "We  have  reason 
to  believe  he  is  here." 

"Well,  you  can  see  for  yourself  whether  he  is 
here  or  not,"  said  Munson,  glancing  around. 
"But  if  you  wish  to  look  through  the  house,  I 
don't  suppose  Mrs.  Darlington  will  refuse  you 
permission." 

The  lady  bowed  her  acquiescence. 

"With  your  consent,  Mrs.  Darlington,"  Munson 
went  on,  "I'll  show  these  gentlemen  round  and 
save  you  the  annoyance.  Come  along  then." 

Ben  Thurston  had  been  fairly  silenced  by  the 
army  man's  suave  courtesy.  He  was  glowering 
at  him,  dully  conscious  of  having  been  sup 
pressed. 

Munson  turned  from  the  sleuth. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Thurston  would  prefer  to  remain 
with  the  ladies?"  he  asked,  with  a  touch  of  smiling 
irony. 

"I  don't  leave  my  man  Sharkey,"  replied 
Thurston  gruffly.  "Sharkey,  keep  close  watch 
on  me.  We'll  search  the  place,  but  you  stay 
near  me  all  the  time."  Once  again  there  was 


IN  A  TIGHT  CORNER  229 

the  old  hunted   look  in  his  eyes   as  he  glanced 
apprehensively  into  the  courtyard. 

"Then  follow  me,"  said  Munson  quietly. 

"You  have  left  a  guard  at  the  door  of  course?" 
asked  Thurston  of  Sharkey. 

"Oh,  you  just  allow  me  to  know  my  business," 
replied  the  detective  sharply.  He  bowed  to  Mrs. 
Darlington  and  her  daughters.  "I  am  really  sorry 
to  disturb  you,  ladies." 

"Then  get  the  business  over  as  soon  as  possible," 
said  Munson.  "Come  along." 

The  moment  the  coast  was  clear,  Merle  jumped 
up. 

"Quick!  Mr.  Willoughby.  Follow  me  down 
stairs.  I'll  take  you  through  the  kitchen  to  the 
rose  gardens." 

It  was  a  strange  looking  duenna  that  stalked 
after  Merle,  with  a  robe  reaching  only  to  the 
knees.  But  at  the  head  of  the  kitchen  stairway 
Dick  discarded  the  now  useless  garments,  flinging 
them  across  the  balustrade. 

"We  must  trust  to  our  good  luck  now,  Merle," 
he  said. 

"Never  fear.     It  won't  desert  us.     Hurry  on." 

At  the  clump  of  oleanders  they  found  Tia 
Teresa,  provided  with  another  shawl.  Not  a 
moment  was  to  be  wasted  in  words.  Merle  just 


230      A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

pressed  Dick's  hand  by  way  of  farewell.  As  he 
hastened  away  down  the  dark  path,  she,  too, 
sped  from  the  spot. 

Perhaps  fifteen  minutes  later  Ben  Thurston, 
going  the  round  of  the  house,  came  to  the  head  of 
the  kitchen  stairs.  He  saw  the  black  cloak  and 
mantilla  on  the  balustrade. 

"By  God!"  he  cried  with  swift  inspiration  of 
what  had  happened.  "We've  been  properly 
fooled!  Where  is  that  old  hag  of  a  duenna?" 

Gathering  the  vestments  in  his  hands  he  rushed 
through  the  house  to  the  verandah.  Merle  was 
quietly  seated  with  her  mother  and  Grace.  But 
there  was  no  sign  now  of  Tia  Teresa. 

Sharkey  had  followed  close  on  his  employer's 
heels.  Munson  came  a  few  paces  behind. 

Ben  Thurston  glared  for  a  moment  at  the 
vacant  place  where  the  black-robed  figure  had  been 
seated.  Then  he  turned  round  and,  addressing 
Mrs.  Darlington,  fairly  shouted: 

"Where  is  Dick  Willoughby?  It  was  he  who 
was  wearing  these  damned  clothes."  And  he 
flung  the  garments  on  the  rug  before  her. 

"No  swearing,  please,"  said  Munson,  tapping 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"To  hell!  Who  wouldn't  swear?  Where  is 
the  man  I'm  after?" 


IN  A  TIGHT  CORNER  231 

"An  innocent  man,"  exclaimed  Merle,  rising 
to  her  feet  and  proudly  folding  her  arms. 

"Looks  like  it — breaking  jail  and  hiding  in  the 
hills,"  sneered  Thurston.  "He  is  nothing  but  a 
murderer  and  an  outlaw.  And  I'm  going  to 
get  him,  dead  or  alive." 

"Then  catch  him  if  you  can,"  cried  Merle, 
pointing  toward  the  door  that  opened  on  the 
portico. 

Under  the  girl's  fearless  gaze  Ben  Thurston 
wilted.  Baffled,  humiliated,  speechless  in  his 
impotent  rage,  he  allowed  the  sleuth  to  take  him 
by  the  arm  and  hustle  him  from  the  scene. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
Love  and  Revenge 

BEYOND  the  oleanders  a  tall  thick  hedge  of 
cypress  favored  the  flight  of  the  fugitive. 
At  the  end  of  the  gardens  Tia  Teresa  took 
a  little  path  that  dipped  into  the  river  bed,  and 
when  they  ascended  again  out  of  the  hollow,  Dick 
found  himself  quite  close  to  the  grove  where 
Pierre  was  in  hiding  with  the  ponies. 

By  this  time  the  young  fellow  was  angry  with 
himself  for  having  fled  so  precipitately.  He  was 
full  of  solicitude  for  Merle.  Why  had  not  he 
remained  to  defend  her  from  the  brutality  of  that 
ruffian,  Ben  Thurston?  This  was  the  question 
that  was  now  making  him  both  ashamed  and 
anxious. 

"Hush!" 

The  caution  came  from  Pierre,  and  showed  that 
the  Frenchman  was  alive  to  what  had  happened. 

"I  saw  ze  automobile  rush  by,"  he  whispered. 
"We  will  ride  across  country,  so  zat  it  cannot 
follow  us."  He  pointed  in  the  direction  he  would 

go- 

(232) 


Among  the  Old  Oaks  —  Page  262 


LOVE  AND  REVENGE  233 

"Not  yet,"  replied  Dick,  determinedly.  "I'm 
off  back  to  the  house  to  see  that  they  are  all  safe 
there." 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Willoughby,"  protested  the  duenna 
earnestly.  "You  heard  what  Miss  Merle  said — 
she  is  afraid  of  that  raging  old  man.  Besides  I 
know.  He  has  vowed  that  he  and  his  hired  gunmen 
will  shoot  you  on  sight.  For  my  little  girl's  sake 
you  must  not  go  back,"  she  implored. 

"Besides  your  word  of  honor  is  pledged  to  me," 
added  Luzon.  "You  must  return  wiz  me.  I  have 
your  parole." 

"Parole  be  hanged,"  muttered  Dick  between 
his  teeth. 

The  old  Frenchman  laid  a  kindly  hand  on  the 
young  man's  shoulder. 

"No,  no.  Monsieur  is  a  man  of  honor.  And 
honor  comes  before  love — always." 

"If  you  love  her,"  insisted  Tia  Teresa,  "you 
will  save  yourself  tonight.  We  will  look  after  her. 
You  need  not  worry  on  her  account." 

Dick  for  the  moment  was  silenced,  but  uncon 
vinced. 

"Well,  at  all  events  we'll  wait  a  bit.  I  don't 
leave  this  spot  till  I'm  sure  that  Ben  Thurston 
himself  has  cleared." 

"All  right,"  assented  Pierre.     "Stay  where  you 


234       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

are,  Tia  Teresa.  You  must  not  be  seen.  Zey 
may  be  searching  in  ze  gardens." 

Even  as  he  spoke  there  was  the  flash  of  a  lantern 
among  the  rose  bushes. 

In  tense  silence  they  waited  and  watched.  The 
leaden- winged  minutes  stole  on.  For  a  time 
lights  flitted  about,  then  vanished.  At  last  came 
the  "honk-honk"  of  the  automobile,  and  a  minute 
later  the  great  machine  with  its  flaring  headlights 
swept  down  the  roadway.  They  could  just  see 
that  it  was  crowded  with  men.  Then  in  a  few 
seconds  it  had  disappeared  around  the  bend. 

"Now  we  go,"  said  Pierre. 

"Just  a  minute  longer,  please,"  replied  Dick  in  a 
firm  tone.  "Tia  Teresa,  you  slip  back  to  the  house. 
I  will  stay  here  till  you  bring  me  word  from  Merle 
that  she  is  safe  and  that  all  is  well." 

"I  will  soon  return,"  said  the  duenna  as  she 
hurried  away  on  her  mission. 

Again  an  interval  of  high-tensioned  waiting. 
Neither  Dick  nor  Pierre  spoke  a  word.  At  last 
there  came  a  rustle  of  the  bushes  from  the  direc 
tion  of  the  river  bed,  and  a  moment  later  Tia 
Teresa  was  again  by  their  side. 

"Mr.  Willoughby,"  she  said,  breathless  from 
the  speed  she  had  made,  "Miss  Merle  begs  you 
to  make  good  your  escape.  She  is  well,  and  happy 


LOVE  AND  REVENGE  235 

because  you  are  safe.    She  sends  this  rose  and"- 
the  old  lady  hesitated  a  moment — "her  love." 

"She  said  that?"  murmured  Dick,  tremblingly, 
as  he  took  the  white  blossom  and  breathed  its 
fragrance. 

"Well,  does  not  the  flower  speak  her  love?" 
replied  the  duenna.  "Now  go,  go." 

"Come,"  said  Pierre,  as  he  raised  himself  into 
the  saddle.  "We  shall  fix  the  blindfold  later  on." 

Dick  furtively  kissed  the  rose  before  he  placed  it 
in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat.  Then  he  mounted, 
and,  bringing  his  pony  alongside  of  Pierre's,  started 
off  at  a  canter  across  the  starlit  plain. 

Ben  Thurston  did  not  feel  inclined  to  sleep  that 
night.  He  paced  his  sitting  room  like  an  angry 
bear,  and  kept  Leach  Sharkey  out  of  bed  to  listen 
to  his  growls  and  threatenings. 

"By  God,  I'll  have  that  girl  shoved  into  jail. 
Harboring  an  outlaw!  It's  a  criminal  offence." 

"You  can't  do  it,"  objected  the  sleuth. 

"Can't  do  it?"  shouted  Thurston,  halting  and 
glowering  down  upon  the  man  who  had  dared  to 
contradict  him.  "You'll  see  damned  quick  if  I 
can't." 

"Not  one  of  us  could  swear  that  Willoughby 
was  there.  Neither  you  nor  I  could.  We  never 
saw  him." 


236       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"He  wore  that  disguise,"  thundered  Thurston. 

"So  you   think.     But   thinking   ain't   proof- 
not  by  a  long  chalk." 

Thurston  was  now  almost  speechless  from  rage. 
Half  articulate  words  of  blasphemy  were  upon  his 
stuttering  lips.  But  Sharkey  went  coolly  on. 

"Besides  the  sympathy  of  everyone  would  be 
with  the  girl.  You  can't  succeed  that  way.  You 
yourself  would  be  covered  with  ridicule." 

At  last  the  torrent  of  curses  broke  forth. 

"Damn  you,  Leach  Sharkey!  That's  what  I 
pay  you  for,  is  it?  To  let  that  scoundrel  slip 
through  our  very  fingers?  And  you  had  the  nerve 
to  ask  me  for  another  big  check  this  evening. 
It's  all  a  confounded  plot.  You're  bleeding  me. 
Leach  is  your  name,  and  leech  is  your  nature." 

Leach  Sharkey  rose  to  his  feet.  His  white 
teeth  gleamed  as  his  short  upper  lip  curled  in  a 
contemptuous  smile.  He  raised  a  threatening 
finger.  It  was  his  turn  now  to  give  free  vent  to 
profanity. 

"Stop  right  there,  you  doggoned  old  fool.  I 
bleed  you,  do  I?  Well,  take  my  resignation.  All 
your  pay  ain't  worth  another  five  minutes  of  your 
infernal  temper.  No  man  ever  dared  to  browbeat 
me  and  insult  me  as  you  have  done.  And  now 
you  may  go  to  hell — where  you  belong." 


LOVE  AND  REVENGE  237 

The  sleuth  turned  on  his  heel,  and  strode  to  the 
doorway.  But  Thurston  was  after  him  in  an 
instant,  penitent,  trembling,  ashen  pale.  He 
grabbed  Sharkey  by  the  coat  sleeve. 

"No,  no,  don't  go,  I  beg  of  you,"  he  whined. 
"I  was  wrong.  I  spoke  in  anger.  I  apologize. 
Good  God,  some  one  or  other  will  get  me  within 
an  hour  if  you  leave  me  unprotected.  I  haven't 
a  single  friend — no  one  to  stand  by  me."  There 
was  craven  fear  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  timidly 
around.  "I  hear  the  prowling  footsteps  of  my 
enemies  in  the  night.  You  alone  can  save  me* 
Mr.  Sharkey." 

"Your  damned  civility  comes  too  late,"  replied 
the  sleuth,  as  he  shook  the  clutching  hands  from 
his  shoulder. 

"No,  no.  Don't  say  that.  Sit  down  again. 
See,  here  is  my  check  book.  I'll  pay  you  that 
money  now — I'll  double  the  amount — I'll  never 
haggle  with  you  again.  Stay  with  me  till  we  go 
East  together." 

Sharkey  showed  himself  somewhat  mollified. 
He  had  played  his  game  well,  for  after  all,  cash 
with  him  was  the  main  consideration.  So  smiling 
over  the  success  of  his  bluff,  he  watched  the  un 
nerved  coward  as  he  tottered  to  his  desk,  dropped 
into  a  chair  and  drew  the  check  with  slow  and 


238       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

painful  effort,  and  then  returned  with  it  between 
his  still  trembling  fingers. 

"You'll  stand  by  me,  Mr.  Sharkey,  won't  you?" 

"Well,  no  more  of  that  nonsense,"  was  the  curt 
reply,  as  the  sleuth  glanced  at  the  slip  of  paper, 
then  thrust  it  in  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

To  Thurston  the  reconciliation  brought  instant 
relief.  He  drew  himself  up;  he  rubbed  his  hands; 
he  even  attempted  a  smile. 

"That's  a  good  fellow,  Sharkey.  You  know 
I've  always  held  you  in  high  esteem.  And  we'll 
get  that  man  yet" — the  glare  of  vindictiveness 
was  again  in  his  eyes^the  rasp  of  accustomed 
irritability  was  returning  to  his  voice.  "We'll 
get  him,  I  say,  even  if  it  costs  double  the  money 
I've  already  spent.  And  that  devil  of  a  girl,  too — 
I  hate  her  more  than  ever  now.  She'll  pay  for 
her  insults  tonight  with  her  lover's  life.  Remem 
ber,  Sharkey,  no  more  chances.  When  you  get 
the  scoundrel  within  gunshot,  it's  up  to  you  to 
shoot.  That  will  be  best  in  any  case.  It  will  save 
the  cost  of  a  judge  and  jury.  You  understand 
me?" 

"I  understand,"  nodded  Sharkey.  "Then,  as 
you're  speaking  about  doubling,  Mr.  Thurston, 
I  suppose  that  ten-thousand-dollar  reward  coming 
to  me  goes  up  to  twenty  thousand." 


LOVE  AND  REVENGE  289 

"Yes;  twenty  thousand  if  you  shoot  him  like  a 
dog,  and  let  me  get  away  from  this  damned  place. 
I  have  come  to  loathe  the  very  name  of  it.  Well, 
spread  your  cot  now  across  my  door.  I'll  try  to 
get  an  hour's  sleep.  Good  night." 

And  Ben  Thurston  disappeared  into  the  inner 
room. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
A  Date  is  Fixed 

ON  the  morning  after  the  exciting  episode 
at  La  Siesta,  Chester  Munson  was  in  the 
library  of  Mr.  Robles'  home  ready  for 
his  day's  duties.  But  he  was  in  no  mood  for  the 
routine  work  of  cataloging  and  classifying  the 
volumes  on  the  bookshelves.  Up  to  now  the  task 
had  been  one  of  absorbing  interest,  for  Munson, 
although  not  a  scholar,  had  always  been  fond 
of  reading,  and  it  was  a  treat  to  dip  at  times  into 
the  contents  of  the  rare  and  curious  works  which 
wealth  and  the  educated  taste  of  a  true  bibliophile 
had  accumulated. 

But  today  the  amateur  librarian  was  thinking 
of  other  things.  He  was  feverishly  awaiting  the 
usual  morning  visit  of  his  employer,  so  that  he 
might  tell  him  the  story  of  the  previous  night's 
happenings.  At  last  Mr.  Robles  made  his  ap 
pearance,  and  gave  his  usual  quiet  greetings. 

"I  see  you  are  making  great  progress  with  your 
work,"  he  remarked,  glancing  at  the  pile  of  classified 
volumes  resting  temporarily  on  the  library  table. 

f240) 


A  DATE  IS  FIXED  241 

"Oh,  I'm  getting  along,"  replied  Mtmson. 
"But  I  have  most  surprising  news  for  you,  Mr. 
Robles." 

"Indeed?"  The  recluse  arched  his  eyebrows 
in  expectant  curiosity  as  he  took  a  chair  beside 
the  desk  at  which  Munson  had  been  seated. 
"Sit  down,  please.  Let  me  hear  the  story." 

"You  know  that  I  was  at  La  Siesta  yesterday 
evening?" 

"I  know  that  you  are  very  often  there,"  replied 
Mr.  Robles,  smiling.  "I  understand  the  attrac 
tion  and  congratulate  you  on  your  good  fortune. 
Grace  Darlington  is  certainly  a  charming  young 
lady." 

Munson  flushed  and  bowed  his  acquiescence  in' 
the  compliment  as  he  said: 

"It  was  not  of  her,  however,  that  I  was  going 
to  speak.  I  want  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Robles,  that 
Miss  Farnsworth  did  one  of  the  bravest  and 
cleverest  things  imaginable  last  evening." 

"Tell  me  about  it.     I  am  all  attention." 

Munson  then  proceeded  to  relate  in  full  detail 
the  events  of  the  preceding  evening — the  surprise 
visit  of  Ben  Thurston,  the  brutality  of  the  man, 
the  quick  wit  of  Merle,  the  escape  of  Dick  Wil- 
loughby,  and  his  final  message  by  Tia  Teresa 
that  he  was  safe  and,  in  obedience  to  Merle's 


242       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

injunction,  was  returning  to  his  place  of  hiding. 
During  the  narrative  only  once  did  the  listener 
betray  emotion;  when  Thurston's  rude  insults 
were  repeated  there  came  a  flash  into  Robles' 
eyes,  and  he  clenched  his  hands  to  restrain  his 
indignation.  But  he  interrupted  with  no  word, 
and  at  the  end  spoke  no  comment. 

Munson  was  a  little  taken  aback  at  this  silence 
and  impassivity. 

"My  story  does  not  seem  to  surprise  you?"  he 
remarked,  with  a  note  of  interrogation. 

"No,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  "I  already  knew  it." 

"How?"  exclaimed  Munson,  wonderingly. 

"You  have  forgotten,  young  man,  that  there  is 
a  private  telephone  between  my  home  here  and 
La  Siesta.  Mrs.  Darlington  has  already  told  me 
about  the  matter.  But  I  am  pleased  to  have 
your  version,  and  delighted  more  than  I  can  tell 
to  know  that  Merle  proved  equal  to  the  emergency 
— that  it  was  she  who  may  be  truly  said  to  have 
saved  Dick  Willoughby."  There  was  a  ring  of 
pride  and  admiration  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke 
the  words. 

"She's  the  real  stuff,"  cried  Munson,  enthusi 
astically. 

"It  was  well  done,"  continued  Mr.  Robles,  his 
tone  taking  a  graver  note.  "For  I  want  to  warn 


A  DATE  IS  FIXED  243 

you,  Munson,  as  Willoughby's  closest  friend,  that 
Ben  Thurston  or  one  of  his  hired  assassins  will 
certainly  shoot  on  sight  the  instant  they  get  the 
chance  to  do  so.  But  by  the  Lord,  if  anything 
like  that  happens,  I  will  hang  that  villain  Thurston 
to  the  highest  tree  in  Tejon  for  the  buzzards  to 
pick  his  bones."  And  the  upraised  hand,  the 
voice  vibrating  with  passionate  determination, 
showed  that  Ricardo  Robles  meant  just  what 
he  said. 

Mr.  Robles  had  risen  to  his  feet.  For  a  moment 
he  turned  his  face  away.  Then  he  again  spoke, 
but  now  in  his  customary,  sedate  manner. 

"This  morning,  Mr.  Munson,  I  leave  home  for 
a  few  days.  Go  on  with  your  work,  of  course, 
but  remember  that  it  is  quite  a  minor  considera 
tion.  During  my  absence  I  shall  rely  on  you  to  see 
that  Ben  Thurston,  on  any  pretence  of  searching 
for  Willoughby,  does  not  cross  my  door." 

"He  shall  never  do  that,  so  long  as  I'm  here," 
declared  the  young  army  man,  with  quiet  confi 
dence. 

"I  don't  think  he  will,  either,"  replied  Robles. 
"I  have  given  orders  for  him  to  be  shot  down," 
he  added  grimly,  "if  he  should  dare  to  approach 
my  gates.  But  I'll  count  on  you  all  the  same  as  a 
second  guard  to  the  sanctity  of  my  home." 


244       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"You  may  count  on  me  to  the  death,"  responded 
Munson,  extending  his  hand. 

"I  know  it,  and  therefore  I  go  away  on  a  neces 
sary  duty  with  an  easy  mind.  But  I  have  good 
news  for  you,  Munson.  I  have  instructed  Sing 
Ling  to  prepare  luncheon  for  the  ladies  of  La  Siesta 
every  day  they  choose  to  come.  So,  while  I 
prefer  you  to  remain  here  on  guard  while  I  am 
gone,  you  need  not  be  lonely.  Perhaps  you'll 
hardly  wish  me  to  come  back  again,"  he  added 
with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  don't  say  that.  But  you're  mighty  kind 
thinking  of  such  things  at  all." 

"Well,  you  may  expect  our  friends  today  about 
one  o'clock.  Now,  goodbye — but  not  for  long." 

The  library  work  proceeded  but  slowly  during 
the  hours  that  followed.  Munson  was  all  im 
patience  now  for  Grace  and  Merle  to  arrive. 
Books  were  of  little  account,  for  there  was  none 
ever  printed  that  could  rival  for  him  the  charm 
of  a  certain  pair  of  laughing  blue  eyes.  And  it 
was  a  self-confessed  pseudo  man-of-letters  who 
at  last  rushed  to  the  gateway  to  greet  the  fair 
visitors. 

"Mother  couldn't  come,"  cried  Grace,  as  she 
jumped  from  her  horse  and  flung  the  bridle  to  a 
Mexican  groom.  "She's  putting  up  fruit  with 


A  DATE  IS  FIXED  245 

Tia  Teresa,  and  I  think  she  really  believes  every 
thing  would  go  wrong  if  she  didn't  superintend." 

Munson,  as  he  led  the  girls  through  the  arched 
gateway,  was  inclined  to  bless  both  the  fruit  and 
the  fallacy. 

Sing  Ling  came  across  the  patio  with  a  wel 
coming  smile. 

"Dinnel  all  leady,"  he  announced  in  tinkling 
syllables. 

"And  we're  all  ready,  too,  Sing  Ling,"  laughed 
Merle,  as  she  went  up  and  shook  the  Chinaman's 
hand. 

"Me  vely  glad  to  see  you  again,  missie." 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  old  friends,"  exclaimed 
Munson,  in  some  surprise. 

"Oh,  didn't  you?  Sing  Ling  has  been  Mr. 
Robles'  cook  off  and  on  for  nearly  twenty  years. 
When  Mr.  Robles  is  abroad  of  course  he  works 
elsewhere.  That's  why  you  found  him  at  San 
Antonio  Rancho." 

"But  Dick  told  me  he  was  his  cook — had  been 
for  several  years." 

"With  Mr.  Robles'  tacit  consent,  then,"  replied 
Merle. 

The  Chinaman  was  grinning  in  a  vacuous  sort 
of  way,  as  if  all  the  conversation  was  so  much 
Greek  to  him. 


246       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Sing  Ling,  you  scamp,"  cried  Munson,  "I 
begin  to  understand  now  how  Mr.  Robles  comes 
to  know  so  much  about  Dick  and  myself.  You've 
been  telling  tales  out  of  school." 

"Oh,  no;  me  cookee  allee  time;  me  no  go 
school,"  replied  the  Celestial,  in  guileless  incom 
prehension. 

After  the  dainty  luncheon,  Merle  proposed  that 
they  should  visit  the  watch  tower.  There  they 
found  the  Mexican  lad  on  duty.  He  had  been 
strumming  a  guitar  to  pass  the  time,  but  at  the 
sound  of  voices  had  sprung  erect  and  alert.  Mun 
son  noticed  at  a  glance  that  the  big  telescope  was 
ready  trained  on  San  Antonio  Rancho. 

"Como  estas,  Francisco?"  asked  Merle,  address 
ing  the  boy  in  Spanish. 

"Bien,  gracias,  senorita,"  he  replied,  with  a 
deferential  bow.  But  he  averted  his  glance 
instantly,  and  gazed  out  on  the  landscape. 

Merle  turned  to  Munson:  "We  are  not  allowed 
to  converse  with  the  servants  here,"  she  explained. 
"Just  a  word  of  greeting — that  is  all." 

"I'm  under  similar  orders,"  replied  Munson. 
"Not  that  it  much  matters  in  my  case,  for  I 
haven't  your  accomplishment  of  knowing  the 
Spanish  "language." 

"Oh,  Grace  and  I  speak  Spanish  almost  as  well 


A  DATE  IS  FIXED  247 

as  English.  You  see,  Mr.  Robles,  who  has  always 
been  interested  in  us  two  girls,  insisted  that  we 
should  be  taught  his  native  tongue." 

"And  we've  been  all  over  Spain,  too,"  inter 
posed  Grace.  "Lived  there  a  whole  year.  That's 
where  I  fell  in  love  with  the  violin  and  took  my 
first  lessons." 

"An  inspiring  country  obviously,"  remarked 
Munson  with  a  flattering  gesture. 

"Thank  you  for  the  subtle  compliment," 
laughed  Grace,  tossing  the  vagrant,  wind-blown 
curls  from  her  face. 

"I  never  come  here  but  I  love  to  gaze  at  the 
view,"  observed  Merle.  "Is  it  not  glorious — 
this  valley  of  Tehachapi?" 

It  was  indeed  a  glorious  scene — that  noble 
sweep  of  verdured  plain,  stretching  north  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  on  the  south  guarded  by 
the  rugged  pass,  east  and  west  embosoming 
hills  twenty  miles  apart  etching  the  sky  with 
peaks  and  domes  and  lines  of  beauty.  For  a  few 
moments  all  three  visitors  to  the  tower  remained 
silent  and  enraptured. 

Grace  was  the  one  to  break  the  spell. 

"I'm  going  down  now  to  the  library  to  inspect 
your  work,  lieutenant,"  she  announced  with  a 
roguish  smile. 


248       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Spare  me,"  protested  Munson.  "But  perhaps 
you  would  help  me  with  some  of  those  Spanish 
books,"  he  added  as  an  afterthought. 

"Delighted!  Come  along."  And  she  led  the 
way  down  the  winding  iron  staircase. 

In  the  library  the  three  were  for  the  first  time 
during  the  visit  quite  alone.  Munson  carefully 
closed  the  door. 

"Now  I've  got  the  chance,  Miss  Merle,"  he 
began,  "I  want  to  compliment  you  on  your 
splendid  bravery  last  night." 

"Bravery!"  she  laughed.  "Why  I  was  so 
scared  I  could  hardly  stand." 

"Well,  you  deceived  us  all  finely,  then." 

"And  that  Ben  Thurston — what  an  old  ruffian!" 
cried  Grace.  "But  I  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Munson; 
Merle  was  a  hero." 

"A  heroine,"  suggested  the  lieutenant. 

"Oh,  in  these  days  we  don't  make  such  fine  sex 
distinctions,"  laughed  Grace.  "A  real  hero,  that's 
what  I  call  her." 

"Rubbish,"  protested  Merle.  "I  just  did  what 
anyone  else  would  have  done  in  the  circumstances." 

"I'm  afraid  men  are  not  so  ready  of  wit  in  an 
emergency  as  are  women,"  remarked  Munson. 

"Just  listen  to  that,  Merle,"  exclaimed  Grace. 
"I  verily  believe  the  lieutenant  is  a  suffragette." 


A  DATE  IS  FIXED  249 

"A  suffragist,"  corrected  Munson,  emphatically 
this  time.  "I'm  hanged  if  I'm  going  to  wear  a 
petticoat  even  if  the  women  are  determined  to 
don — the  other  things." 

They  all  laughed  merrily. 

Grace  turned  and  began  examining  the  carefully 
written  library  cards. 

"Any  more  news  from  Mr.  Willoughby?"  asked 
Merle,  with  a  look  of  solicitude  in  her  eyes. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Munson.  "But  I'm  be 
ginning  to  put  two  and  two  together,"  he  con 
tinued.  "Early  every  morning  a  horseman  comes 
down  here  from  the  mountains  and  evidently 
brings  a  report  of  some  kind  to  Mr.  Robles.  And 
when  he  rides  off  again  Sing  Ling  has  always  ready 
a  basket  of  grub,  all  sorts  of  nice  things,  fried 
chicken,  spiced  beef — " 

"Sounds  quite  epicurean,"  interrupted  Grace, 
tossing  away  the  card  she  had  been  pretending 
to  examine. 

"Yes,  hang  it  all — just  the  little  delicacies 
Dick  used  to  like." 

"I  never  knew  you  fared  so  bountifully  at 
San  Antonio  Rancho,"  remarked  Merle  with  a 
smile. 

"Oh,  Dick's  no  candy  kid,  as  you  know  well," 
replied  Munson.  "It  was  mostly  rough  and 


ready  fare  all  right,  but  Sing  Ling  had  a  knack 
of  adding  a  few  dainty  trifles  to  our  meals,  and  it 
strikes  me  that  for  the  purposes  of  this  mysterious 
and  capacious  lunch  basket  he  is  trying  to  excel 
himself." 

"No  doubt  it  goes  to  Mr.  Willoughby,"  said 
Merle.  "Well,  I'm  real  glad  to  know  that  they 
are  making  him  comfortable." 

"I  guess,  though,  he'll  miss  his  occasional 
visits  to  La  Siesta.  Mr.  Robles  says  you  were 
quite  right,  Miss  Merle.  Dick  is  in  real  danger. 
Those  gunmen  of  old  Thurston  have  orders  to 
shoot  him  on  sight." 

"I  knew  it,"  exclaimed  Merle.  "Oh,  I'm  so 
thankful  he  got  away.  Even  though  we  miss 
seeing  him,  he  must  never  run  such  a  risk 
again." 

"It  is  all  very  mysterious,"  said  Munson,  in  a 
musing  tone.  "And  I  had  no  idea,  too,  that  this 
was  such  a  lovely  place.  Mr.  Robles  has  taken 
me  around  several  times.  He  has  the  choicest 
dairy  cattle,  the  finest  blooded  horses,  rare  trees 
and  plants  from  every  corner  of  the  world." 

"These  are  his  hobbies,"  commented  Merle. 

"He  says  he  wants  to  give  me  some  practical 
lessons  in  estate  management." 

"Why?"  asked  Grace. 


A  DATE  IS  FIXED  251 

"Well,"  laughed  Munson,  "he  thinks  I  may  some 
day  own  a  rancho  of  my  own.  But  that  will  be  a 
mighty  long  time." 

"Who  can  tell?"  said  Merle,  glancing  mis 
chievously  from  the  lieutenant  to  Grace.  "Even 
in  these  humdrum  days  soldiers  have  been  known 
to  come  in  and  conquer." 

Grace  blushed  crimson. 

"Merle,  how  dare  you?"  she  exclaimed,  half 
angry,  half  laughing.  "Next  time  we  visit 
you,  Mr.  Munson,  I'll  have  to  bring  along  Tia 
Teresa." 

"Oh,  dear  Aunt  Teresa  has  a  soft  side  for  the 
lieutenant,"  retorted  Merle,  with  merry  audacity. 

But  Grace  had  recovered  from  her  momentary 
confusion. 

"Then  I'll  help  you  all  I  can,  Mr.  Munson, 
with  dear  Aunt  Teresa,"  she  laughingly  said. 
"We'll  send  her  along  tomorrow  instead  of  coming 
ourselves." 

"Heaven  forbid!"  murmured  the  lieutenant, 
with  pious  fervor.  He,  too,  had  been  looking 
and  feeling  awkward. 

"So  we'll  say  goodbye  for  the  present,"  con 
tinued  Grace,  frankly  extending  her  hand. 

"I  hope  I  haven't  said  anything  to  offend 
you,"  stammered  Munson. 


252       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"It  is  perhaps  what  you  haven't  said  that  is 
the  cause  of  trouble,"  laughed  the  irrepressible 
Merle. 

But  Grace  had  fled  from  the  room,  and  as  the 
others  followed,  Merle  went  on: 

"I  said  when  we  left  home  that  two  would  be 
company  but  three — a  complication.  Wasn't  I 
right,  lieutenant?" 

"You  are  always  right,"  murmured  Munson, 
too  bewildered  to  think  of  anything  else  but  the 
obvious  gallant  reply. 

He  stood  at  the  gateway  watching  the  two 
young  ladies  as  they  cantered  away.  At  the  bend 
of  the  road  Merle  turned  round  in  the  saddle  and 
waved  her  hand.  But  Grace  rode  steadily  on. 

"By  jove,  that's  as  good  as  telling  me  that  I  can 
sail  in  and  win,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Thank 
you,  Merle,  little  girl.  Next  time  Grace  and  I 
are  alone,  my  fate  will  be  sealed." 

But  no  one  called  again  during  Mr.  Robles' 
absence — not  even  Tia  Teresa. 

It  was  toward  evening  a  few  days  later  when 
the  recluse  strolled  into  the  library.  Munson 
did  not  know  that  he  had  returned,  and  rose  from 
his  seat  in  some  surprise. 

"Still  hard  at  work?"  said  Mr.  Robles,  as  he 
nodded  and  shook  hands. 


A  DATE  IS  FIXED  253 

"When  did  you  get  back,  sir?" 

"Last  night.  And  today  I  have  been  busy 
with  some  important  letters." 

"Any  word  of  Dick?" 

"There  is  nothing  new  so  far  as  I  am  aware." 

"Mr.  Robles,  excuse  me,"  said  Munson  earnestly. 
"But  I'm  anxious  on  Dick's  account.  You  know 
of  his  whereabouts,  of  course?" 

"I  have  indicated  as  much,  although  for  the 
present  I  prefer  to  say  nothing." 

"Well,  when  is  he  to  be  restored  to  liberty?" 

"In  due  time.  At  latest  he  will  be  free  on  the 
eleventh  of  October." 

"Oh,  that's  months  ahead  yet.  But  why  the 
eleventh  of  October?  You  excite  my  curiosity." 

"The  date  is  not  of  my  choosing — it  was  fixed 
many  years  ago,  by  another  than  myself." 

The  enigmatic  reply  puzzled  Chester  Munson — 
not  only  the  words  themselves,  but  the  tremor  of 
deep  emotion  in  the  voice  of  Ricardo  Robles  as 
he  gave  them  utterance. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
Among  the  Old  Oaks 

'  •  ^lERRE,   now  my  sketches   and  plans  are 

finished,  how  am  I  going  to  pass  the  time?" 

It  was  some  ten  days  after  the  affair  at 

La  Siesta,  and  Dick  had  spent  the  interval  in 

close  and  absorbed  work  over  his  drawing  board. 

Happy  in  his  occupation,  he  had  not  felt  the 

restraints  of  confinement. 

But  now  that  the  task  was  completed,  and  the 
big  cardboard  cylinder  containing  the  set  of  draw 
ings  rested  on  the  ledge  of  the  easel  all  ready  to  be 
sent  away  on  its  mission,  a  feeling  of  chafing  rest 
lessness  had  ensued. 

"Good  Lord,  a  fellow  can't  read  all  day," 
Dick  went  on,  half  in  soliloquy,  half  addressing 
his  companion. 

"Monsieur  is  comfortable  here?"  asked  the 
latter  solicitously. 

"I  should  say,  old  fellow.  I  was  never  in  better 
quarters  in  all  my  life." 

"And  zere  is  nothing  more  I  could  get  for  ze 
table?" 

(254) 


AMONG  THE  OLD  OAKS  255 

"For  goodness  sake,  don't  talk  like  that, 
Pierre!  In  any  case  I  don't  worry  about  what  I 
eat.  But  this  is  a  regular  Delmonico's.  Guada- 
lupe  is  certainly  a  cracker  jack  cook.  She  is  even 
better  than  Sing  Ling.  Wherever  did  she  learn 
to  turn  out  all  these  little  delicacies?  And  just 
my  favorite  dishes,  too." 

Pierre  smiled  enigmatically. 

"Guadalupe  very  clever  old  squaw,"  he  re 
marked. 

"I  would  like  to  know  her  better.  But  she  keeps 
out  of  my  sight  all  the  time." 

"Guadalupe  is  very  old.  She  has  her  fixed 
ideas." 

"I  suppose  that  means  she  does  not  love  the 
Americans." 

"No  doubt.  She  prefer  to  be  alone — alone 
with  ze  white  wolf  all  ze  time.  And  where  the 
white  wolf  is,  monsieur  dare  not  go." 

"I  understand  that  all  right,"  laughed  Wil- 
loughby.  "I  strolled  only  once  toward  the  log 
fire,  and  the  brute  showed  me  a  set  of  teeth  which 
I  never  wish  to  see  again." 

"Ze  white  wolf  guard  ze  cave  well,"  remarked 
Pierre,  sententiously. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  thinking  of  trying  to  run  away. 
You  know  I  would  never  break  my  word* 


256       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

But  what  the  dickens  am  I  to  do  all  day 
long?" 

"What  do  you  say?  Suppose  we  go  to  ze  riffle 
and  wash  out  some  gold." 

"Great  Scott !"  exclaimed  Dick  eagerly.  "That's 
not  a  bad  suggestion.  But  Don  Manuel  won't 
mind?" 

"He  will  be  very  pleased — he  has  no  use  for  ze 
gold." 

"And  Guadalupe?" 

"Long  ago  she  would  have  killed  you  if  you 
had  gone  zere.  But  not  now.  She  very  old,  and 
all  her  people  are  dead." 

"And  the  white  wolf?  That  confounded  beast 
won't  interfere?" 

"No,  no.  Ze  white  wolf  stay  near  Guadalupe 
all  ze  tune." 

"Then,  by  jove,  it's  a  bully  idea,"  cried  Dick. 
"It  gets  me  all  right.  We'll  turn  miners,  Pierre,  and 
we'll  have  a  rare  old  sack  of  nuggets  to  divide 
when  the  time  comes  for  me  to  go  free.  I'll  be 
better  off  in  the  end  than  if  I  were  holding  down 
my  old  job  at  the  rancho,"  he  laughed  gaily. 

"I  will  find  ze  spades  and  ze  pans  to  wash  ze 
gravel.  When  shall  we  begin?" 

"Well,  wait  now,"  replied  Dick,  glancing 
reflectively  at  the  roll  of  drawings.  "I've  got  to 


AMONG  THE  OLD  OAKS  257 

send  these  plans  away.  I  want  you  to  get  them  at 
once  into  the  hands  of  my  friend,  Lieutenant 
Chester  Munson.  He  will  know  how  to  forward 
them  to  their  proper  destination.'* 

"May  I  suggest  one  zing?" 

"Go  ahead,  Pierre.    What's  in  your  mind?" 

"I  venture  to  make  one  little  suggestion.  Why 
not  ask  ze  young  lady  to  take  ze  plans  to  your 
friend?" 

"Miss  Merle  Farns worth?"  asked  Dick  in 
surprise.  "But  how  am  I  to  do  that?" 

"I  will  promise  to  arrange  a  meeting — zat 
is,  if  you  are  not  afraid  of  Mr.  Thurston  and 
his  men." 

"Afraid!"  shouted  Dick.  "You  give  me  the 
chance  to  see  Merle  again,  and  old  Ben  Thurston 
and  all  his  sleuths  may  go  to  blazes." 

"Zen  I  will  arrange,  and  I  zink  it  will  please  ze 
young  lady  very  much  to  have  ze  honor  of  taking 
care  of  ze  plans." 

"You  mean  it  will  be  a  mighty  honor  for  the 
plans  to  be  in  her  care,  Pierre.  But  I  know  she 
will  gladly  do  me  this  service.  How  and  when 
can  I  see  her?" 

"Be  ready  tomorrow  morning  by  ten  o'clock.  I 
will  take  you  to  a  quiet  place  among  ze  old  oak 
trees." 


258       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Pierre,  you're  a  regular  brick,"  cried  Dick,  as  he 
slapped  the  old  Frenchman  on  the  shoulder  in  the 
exuberance  of  his  delight. 

The  following  morning  they  started  out  for  the 
trysting  place.  Dick  without  demur  submitted 
to  the  usual  precautions.  He  was  blindfolded 
before  mounting  his  pony  in  the  great  central 
domed  cavern  and  it  was  not  until  a  couple  of 
hours  later,  after  a  veritable  switchback  ride  up 
and  down  and  round  about  in  a  bewildering  maze, 
that  he  was  permitted  to  remove  the  bandage. 
Dismounting,  he  found  himself  in  the  heart  of  a 
great  oak  forest,  in  what  precise  locality  he  could 
not  tell,  for  there  was  nothing  in  sight  but  endless 
vistas  of  tree  trunks  under  their  thick  canopy  of 
green  leaves. 

Pierre  touched  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  he  fol 
lowed  the  direction  of  the  Frenchman's  eyes. 
There,  advancing  through  the  sylvan  twilight, 
was  Merle  Farnsworth,  her  hands  eagerly  ex 
tended,  her  face  lighted  with  joy.  Following  at  a 
little  distance  came  Tia  Teresa. 

Dick,  hastening  to  meet  Merle,  took  both  her 
hands  into  his,  and  gazed  deep  into  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  it's  great  to  meet  you  again,"  he  exclaimed. 
"And  this  is  my  first  chance  to  thank  you  for  hav 
ing  saved  me  the  other  night.  My  word,  but  you 


AMONG  THE  OLD  OAKS  259 

were  quick  to  think  and  to  act.  You  cannot  know 
how  I  admired  your  courage  and  coolness." 

"Nonsense,  nonsense,"  protested  Merle,  in 
sweet  blushing  confusion.  "You  make  far  too 
much  of  the  little  I  did." 

"You  saved  my  life,"  said  Dick,  determinedly. 
"You  can  call  that  a  little  thing  if  you  choose." 

"No,  no,"  she  replied,  earnestly.  "If  I  really 
did  that,  then  it  was  truly  a  big  thing." 

"For  me." 

"And  for  all  of  us,"  she  added,  with  face  half- 
averted. 

"And  you,  too?"  pressed  Dick. 

"Yes,  for  me,  too,"  answered  Merle,  turning 
round  and  frankly  meeting  his  gaze.  "I  should 
never  have  been  happy  again  had  any  harm  come 
to  you  there — that  night — in  my  very  home — 
without  a  proper  effort  to  get  you  away  to  a  place 
of  safety." 

"God  bless  you,  Merle,  dear,"  exclaimed  Dick, 
as  again  he  pressed  her  hands.  He  had  been 
carried  away  by  his  fervent  emotions,  but  she 
did  not  resent  the  familiar  and  endearing  manner 
of  his  address. 

He  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms  there  and 
then,  but  Merle  drew  back  and  gave  a  little  glance 
aside.  Then  Dick  remembered  Tia  Teresa.  To 


260       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

his  astonishment  he  found  her  chatting  with 
Pierre  Luzon  as  if  they  were  old  friends. 

Dick  left  Merle  for  the  moment  to  greet  the 
duenna. 

"And  I  have  to  thank  you,  too,  for  helping 
me,'*  he  said.  Then  he  added  with  a  laugh: 
"When  am  I  to  be  privileged  to  wear  that 
mantilla  again?'* 

"You  are  not  to  be  allowed  to  endanger  your 
self  again,"  replied  Tia  Teresa.  "And  I  warn  you 
now.  We  remain  here  only  half  an  hour — these 
are  our  orders." 

"Whose  orders?" 

"Never  mind.    Just  one  half  hour,  that  is  all." 

"Then  I'll  make  the  best  of  my  time,"  exclaimed 
Dick,  turning  toward  Merle.  "I  see  you  won't 
be  lonely  with  my  gallant  friend,  Pierre  Luzon," 
he  added  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  I  knew  Pierre  when  he  was  just  as  hand 
some  a  young  fellow  as  yourself,"  retorted  Tia 
Teresa.  "But  we'll  excuse  you,  and  Pierre  will 
keep  the  time." 

Dick  led  Merle  down  a  glade  of  the  forest,  but 
before  doing  so  he  had  unstrapped  the  roll  of 
drawings  from  the  horn  of  his  saddle. 

"What  are  you  carrying  so  very  carefully?" 
asked  Merle. 


AMONG  THE  OLD  OAKS  261 

"My  plans  for  the  ideal  city.  I  told  you  I  was 
going  to  have  a  try  in  that  competition." 

"I  hope  you'll  have  good  luck." 

"Well,  I  want  you  to  help  me.  Will  you  take 
this  package,  please,  to  Chester  Munson  and  ask 
him  to  send  it  to  the  proper  address?" 

"With  the  greatest  of  pleasure,  Mr.  Willoughby" 
— and  she  put  forth  her  hands  for  the  roll. 

"No — we'll  lay  it  down  here  for  the  present. 
This  log  will  serve  as  a  seat.  See,  this  twisted 
limb  makes  quite  a  comfortable  nook  for  you." 
He  had  halted  at  a  fallen  tree,  had  dropped  the 
drawing  on  the  turf,  and  was  now  dusting  away 
the  twigs  and  leaves  from  the  seat  he  had 
chosen. 

"Cannot  I  look  at  the  drawings?"  she  asked, 
after  settling  herself  cosily. 

"Before  handing  them  to  Munson,  if  you  like. 
But  there  are  other  things  to  talk  about  now."  As 
he  spoke  he  tossed  his  hat  on  the  ground  at  her  feet. 

"Are  you  growing  impatient  over  your  confine 
ment?"  she  asked. 

"Impatient — it  is  hardly  the  word.  I  long  to  be 
out  in  the  world  again.  I  could  never  have  en 
dured  the  long  seclusion  but  for  my  work  over 
these  drawings  and  my  thoughts  cf  you." 

"Why  me?" 


262       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"I  have  felt  that  I  am  doing  the  best  for  your 
sake  as  well  as  my  own.  I  would  not  have  had 
you  subjected  to  the  vulgar  gaze  of  a  crowded 
court  room — not  for  worlds.  The  very  thought 
that  I  have  saved  you  from  that  has  made  me 
contented  with  my  enforced  idleness." 

"Not  idleness,"  she  said,  tapping  the  roll  of 
drawings  with  the  toe  of  her  shoe. 

"Well,  no,  not  idleness  exactly." 

"And  I  do  hope  you'll  win  the  prize,"  she  added, 
looking  up  into  his  eyes. 

"So  do  I.  But  perhaps  you  don't  know  what  I 
count  to  be  the  real  prize." 

"Pray,  what  is  that?" 

Dick  thrust  a  hand  into  the  breast  of  his  coat 
and  brought  forth  a  pocket  book.  From  this  he 
produced  a  little  package,  and  opening  the  folds 
of  paper  disclosed  the  white  rose  which  she  had 
sent  him  on  the  night  of  his  escape  from  La 
Siesta. 

"Where  did  you  get  that?"  she  asked  de 
murely. 

"It  is  your  rose — the  rose  you  sent  me." 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  so  partial  to  roses  as 
to  keep  them  after  they  are  withered."  Her 
voice  trembled;  she  bravely  tried  to  keep  up  the 
pretence  of  not  understanding. 


AMONG  THE  OLD  OAKS  263 

"It  is  not  the  gift  I  treasure — it  is  the  thought 
of  who  was  the  giver." 

A  blush  stole  over  her  beautiful  face,  while  the 
long  drooping  eyelashes  half  concealed  her  brown 
eyes.  Dick's  arms  slipped  around  the  girl's 
slender  waist. 

"Merle,  my  dear,  I  love  you.  For  months  past 
I  have  known  that  there  is  no  woman  on  earth  for 
me  but  you.  I  would  have  spoken  before,  but  I 
have  always  been  afraid  that  you  could  not  love 
me,  and  that  talk  of  such  a  thing  might  terminate 
a  friendship  that  had  become  my  greatest  pleasure 
in  life." 

For  reply,  placing  one  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
she  just  buried  her  face  in  his  breast  and  gave  way 
to  tears — tears  of  joy,  he  knew,  as  he  kissed 
her  hair  again  and  again,  and  then  at  last  her 
lips  when  she  allowed  him  to  raise  her  face 
toward  his. 

"My  darling,"  he  murmured,  and  the  kiss  she 
gave  him  back  accepted  and  returned  the  words 
of  fond  endearment. 

A  moment  of  restful  bliss  followed;  then  Merle 
gently  disengaged  herself  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"What  will  Tia  Teresa  say?"  she  asked,  laugh 
ingly,  as  she  glanced  over  her  shoulder. 

"I  think  Tia  Teresa  knew  all  about  my  love 


264       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

long  ago,"  replied  Dick.  "Yes,  both  she  and 
Pierre  Luzon,  too." 

"Then  you  have  been  wearing  your  heart  on 
your  sleeve." 

"Or  we  have  been  surrounded  by  very  observant 
people.  But,  I  say,  Merle,  this  reminds  me  of  a 
thing  I  had  quite  forgotten  for  the  moment." 
His  face  fell.  "There  is  one  great  barrier  that 
stands  between  us." 

"What  do  you  mean?  You  are  surely  too  strong 
and  purposeful  a  man  to  care  for  barriers." 

"I  never  knew  until  the  other  day  that  you  are 
so  very  rich." 

"Rich!"  laughed  Merle.  "Who  ever  told  you 
such  a  foolish  thing?  While  of  course  I  have  never 
felt  poverty,  don't  you  know  that  I  am  absolutely 
dependent  upon  Mrs.  Darlington's  kindness  and 
generosity  to  me,  her  adopted  daughter?" 

A  smile  of  understanding  broke  over  Dick's 
face. 

"You  tell  me  that?  I  am  so  delighted,"  he 
exclaimed. 

"You  surely  know  my  story  well  enough," 
continued  Merle,  "not  to  have  mistaken  me  for 
an  heiress.  I  lost  both  father  and  mother  when 
I  was  a  baby.  Mrs.  Darlington  took  me  to  her 
heart,  and  no  mother  could  have  been  dearer  and 


AMONG  THE  OLD  OAKS  265 

sweeter  than  she,  no  sister  kinder  and  more  loving 
than  Grace.  But  I  am  proud  to  think  they  have 
loved  me  for  my  own  sake,  not  for  any  wealth  I 
might  have  owned." 

"Then  there  is  no  barrier,"  cried  Dick,  as  once 
again  he  drew  her  to  him.  "Unless  my  poverty  is 
a  barrier,"  he  added.  "But  won't  I  work  hard  all 
my  life  to  give  you  every  comfort  you  can  desire!" 

"Well,  we'll  have  a  good  start  at  all  events," 
said  Merle,  with  a  merry  little  upglance. 

"How's  that?" 

"The  ten-thousand-dollar  prize  for  the  best 
plans.  Have  you  forgotten  about  that  already?" 

"But  it  is  not  won  yet." 

"Oh,  I  have  the  firm  presentiment  that  you  are 
going  to  win,  Dick,  dear.  I  am  sure  of  it — sure!" 
she  repeated  in  a  tone  of  conviction. 

Her  face  was  aglow  and  Dick  caught  the  spirit 
of  her  enthusiasm. 

"Then  I'm  sure,  too.  And,  by  jove,  won't  we 
have  one  grand  honeymoon  trip,  dearest?" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
The  Prize  Winner 

DICK  WILLOUGHBY'S  sensational  escape 
from  La  Siesta  had  added  another  thrill 
to  the  mystery  surrounding  the  murder 
of  Marshall  Thurston.  But  as  week  succeeded 
week  without  further  incident,  the  affair  gradually 
faded  away  as  a  topic  of  conversation.  All  the 
talk  now  was  about  the  coming  of  the  new  town. 
The  fever  of  speculation  was  in  the  air. 

"Say,  boys,"  remarked  Jack  Rover  one  evening 
to  his  two  cronies  at  the  store,  "I'm  sure  getting 
crazy  about  the  new  town.  I've  got  a  thousand 
bones  of  my  own  savings  besides  the  money  from 
old  Pierre  Luzon,  and  I'm  going  to  invest  every 
dangnation  cent  of  it  in  town  lots  on  opening  day. 
You  bet  I'll  be  there  mighty  early  in  the  morning 
when  the  sale  starts." 

"I'm  sorta  locoed  myself,"  said  Baker,  "about 
them  lots  in  the  new  town.  Guess  I'll  grab  off 
a  few  good  corners.  I  look  for  an  early  rise — 
prices'll  go  up  like  blazes,  I'm  'lowin'." 

Buck  Ashley  snorted  contemptuously.     "Say, 

(266) 


THE  PRIZE  WINNER  267 

you  fellers  are  two  dippy  ones.  That  new  town 
talk  is  a  lot  o'  hot  air,  d'you  hear?  Jest  the 
agitatin'  work  of  them  pesky  town  boomers. 
Won't  'mount  to  nothin'." 

Jack  Rover  started  a  defence,  but  was  quickly 
motioned  to  silence  by  old  Tom  Baker,  who, 
after  clearing  his  throat,  pushed  his  hat  back  and 
glared  at  Buck  Ashley. 

"Buck,"  said  he,  "you're  a  thick-headed  fool. 
The  openin'  of  that  town  will  amount  to  one  hell 
of  a  sight,  don't  you  fergit  it.  Why,  that  Los 
Angeles  syndicate  cuss  who's  a-runnin*  the  machine 
is  sharper  than  a  razor  blade.  Just  think  for  one 
little  puny  moment,"  Tom  Baker  went  on,  en 
thusiastically,  "of  that  printed  notice  being  in 
every  blamed  newspaper  in  the  whole  country — 
yes,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  pond — 
offerin'  ten  thousand  dollars  for  the  best  plans 
for  an  ideal  city.  Gosh  all  hemlock,  they  do  say 
as  how  the  mails  were  just  chuck  full  of  answers — 
architect  fellers  as  well  as  them  as  ain't  archi 
tects,  a-tryin'  to  get  their  hooks  on  that  ten- 
thousand-dollar  prize.  It  was  a  mighty  smart 
business  notion,  I'm  a-tellin'  you,  and  has  boomed 
the  town  to  beat  the  band." 

"But,"  inquired  Buck  Ashley,  in  a  sarcastic 
way,  "who  is  confounded  fool  enough  to  buy  lots 


268       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

in  such  a  wild-cat  scheme,  no  matter  how  much 
they  advertise  it?  That's  what  I'm  askin'." 

"I  will,  for  one,"  said  Jack  Rover.  "As  I  said 
before,  I'm  going  to  put  in  my  last  dollar." 

"As  for  me,"  chimed  in  Tom  Baker,  "I  will  lay 
my  money  on  this  'ere  proposed  new  town  bein' 
the  biggest  town  in  the  whole  dangnation  State 
of  California  outside  of  sea-board  towns." 

Just  then  through  the  gathering  darkness  a 
lone  horseman  rode  up  to  the  store,  dismounted 
and  came  hurriedly  in.  It  was  none  other  than 
Chester  Munson,  flushed  and  excited,  as  he  sang 
out  a  good-natured  salute:  "Hallo,  boys.  I 
have  news  for  you." 

As  he  spoke  he  pulled  a  Bakersfield  daily  paper 
from  his  pocket.  "The  new  town!"  he  fairly 
shouted.  "All  about  it,  right  on  the  front  page, 
pictures  and  all.  And  it  is  Dick  Willoughby  who 
wins  the  ten- thousand-dollar  prize!" 

"That's  great  news,  sure,"  cried  Jack. 

"It's  a  mighty  pity  Dick  ain't  here  to  celebrate," 
growled  the  sheriff. 

"What's  to  be  the  name  of  the  town?"  asked 
Buck  Ashley,  in  a  disbelieving  tone. 

"Tejon,  after  the  old  fort  here,"  replied  Munson, 
as  he  pointed  to  the  featured  article  with  its  big- 
type  headlines  and  started  to  cull  a  few  sentences. 


THE  PRIZE  WINNER  269 

"It  says  that  the  new  city  of  Tejon,  right  here  in 
the  heart  of  a  rich  horticultural  valley,  is  bound  to 
be  one  of  the  top-notch  towns  of  California.  And 
the  opening  day  is  going  to  be  immense.  Next  Tues 
day  is  the  date  fixed.  Maps  and  plans  of  the  new 
town  will  be  ready  for  distribution  from  the  land 
company's  office,  corner  Main  Street  and  Broad 
way,  at  nine  o'clock  Monday  morning.  Let  me 
see,"  he  went  on,  looking  up  from  the  paper,  "this  is 
Wednesday.  Mighty  few  days  to  wait,  boys.  You 
just  ought  to  see  the  excitement  in  Bakersfield." 

"Well,  I  say  there  ain't  no  such  town,"  snapped 
Buck  Ashley,  "nor  no  such  a  company's  office 
buildin',  'cause  I  was  down  there  day  before 
yesterday  myself,  right  where  them  surveyin' 
fellers  have  been  foolin'  'round  for  weeks,  peekin' 
through  spy-glasses  at  each  other  and  measurin' 
off  so  many  feet  this  way  and  so  many  feet  that 
way,  like  a  bunch  o'  kids  playin'  some  game. 
No,  siree,  there's  nothin'  but  long  rows  of  white 
stakes  driv  in  the  ground.  Looks  to  me  as  if 
they  was  a-gettin'  ready  to  build  a  lot  of  hen 
houses.  Of  course  the  railroad's  there,  and  the 
only  thing  changed  that  I  could  see  was  a  lot  of 
side-tracks  they've  put  in." 

"Well,  things  have  been  humming  the  last  two 
days,"  laughed  Munson.  "This  afternoon  I 


270       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

found  all  the  side-tracks  filled  with  trains  of  lum 
ber,  carload  after  carload,  and  not  less  than  two 
or  three  hundred  workmen,  all  as  busy  as  nailers. 
Looked  to  me  as  if  a  three-ring  circus  were  getting 
ready  for  a  big  show.  They  are  already  running 
up  electric  light  poles  and  stringing  the  wires. 
Some  of  the  men  are  unloading  cars,  some  stacking 
up  lumber,  others  are  putting  up  tents,  and  the 
entire  business  reminded  me  of  a  hive  of  extremely 
busy  bees.  Go  down  and  look  for  yourself,  Buck, 
and  you'll  be  convinced  at  last  that  the  new  town 
has  arrived." 

The  old  storekeeper  had  come  from  behind  the 
counter,  and  stood  leaning  against  a  stack  of 
boxes. 

"I've  been  here  for  more'n  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  boys,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  seriousness 
that  approached  to  sadness,  "and  this  old  store 
seems  like  home  to  me.  I'm  some  fighter  and 
I'm  some  stayer.  But,  hell,  I  reckon  I  know 
when  I'm  licked.  I  guess  this  new  town  puts  a 
crimp  in  me  and  my  business,  and — " 

"Honk-honk;  honk-honk" — it  was  the  distant 
warning  of  an  automobile  that  interrupted  Buck's 
speech,  and  drew  all  four  present  to  the  doorway. 
There  was  the  glare  of  twin  headlights  on  the 
southern  road. 


THE  PRIZE  WINNER  271 

"Some  of  the  Los  Angeles  buyers,  most  likely," 
suggested  the  sheriff. 

And  so  the  travellers  proved  to  be.  The 
automobile  halted  at  the  store,  but  only  one  of  the 
party  of  four  or  five  descended.  He  was  a 
bright-faced,  clean-shaven  man,  of  dapper  build 
and  faultlessly  attired.  In  his  hand  was  a  bunch 
of  papers. 

"Mr.  Buck  Ashley?"  he  inquired. 

"I'm  your  man,"  replied  Buck,  stepping  from 
the  doorway. 

"Well,  we  can't  stop  tonight.  But  we  wanted 
to  say  'how-do.'  I  represent  the  Los  Angeles 
Trust  Syndicate,  and  these  documents  just  ar 
rived  yesterday  from  Washington,  D.  C." 

"Can't  be  for  me,  then,"  replied  Buck,  hesi 
tating  to  take  the  proffered  papers. 

"But  they  are,"  replied  the  stranger  with  a 
laugh.  "Oh,  we  haven't  forgotten  the  interests 
of  the  old  identities.  We've  had  your  name  in 
mind  all  the  time,  and  this  is  a  removal  order 
from  the  Government  to  change  your  postoffice 
over  to  the  new  town  of  Tejon." 

Buck  was  speechless  as  his  fingers  closed  on 
the  documents. 

"We'll  hope  to  see  you  over  on  Tuesday  morn 
ing,  Mr.  Ashley,  so  that  you  can  secure  a  good 


A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 


site  for  your  new  store.  Now  I  must  be  going. 
We  have  got  to  be  in  Bakersfield  by  eleven 
o'clock." 

"Honk-honk,"  and  the  automobile  was  gone. 

"Hell,  Buck,  have  you  lost  your  tongue?" 
cried  Tom  Baker,  slapping  the  storekeeper  on  the 
shoulder.  "Don't  you  see  what  it  all  means? 
You're  goin'  to  shift  camp,  old  man;  you're  goin' 
into  the  new  town." 

"Gosh  'Imighty!"  murmured  Buck,  at  last 
recovering  the  power  of  articulation.  "I  think 
the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  lubricate." 

"A  taste  from  the  mystery  keg,"  suggested  the 
sheriff,  as  they  all  crowded  back  into  the  store. 

"The  mystery  keg?  What's  that?"  asked 
Munson. 

Buck  laid  his  hand  on  a  small  barrel  at  the  end 
of  the  counter. 

"We  call  it  the  mystery  keg,"  he  replied, 
"because  we  just  found  it  yesterday  mornin' 
settin'  at  my  back  door.  It  has  come  to  us  sorta 
like  manna  from  heaven." 

"And  tastes  like  manna,  too,"  interjected 
Baker. 

"It  means  free  drinks  for  all  this  pertic'lar 
bunch,"  continued  Buck,  "for  there  is  no  question 
as  to  where  the  keg  came  from.  Look  at  the 


THE  PRIZE  WINNER  273 

date  on  the  top — 1853.     This  'ere  barrel  came 
out  of  Joaquin  Murietta's  wine  cellar." 

"You  don't  say?"  exclaimed  Munson,  pressing 
forward  eagerly  to  examine  the  little  brass-hooped 
keg,  looking  bright  and  sound  despite  its  antiquity. 

"This  whisky  is  sixty  years  old  at  least,"  Buck 
went  on,  turning  the  tap  and  filling  a  small 
pitcher. 

"Tastes  like  it  might  be  a  hundred  years  older," 
remarked  the  sheriff.  "Mellow  as  fresh  drawn 
milk." 

Buck  handed  Munson  a  pony  glass  of  the  rare 
old  beverage. 

"By  jove,  it  is  fine,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
judicially  smacking  his  lips. 

"Just  makes  my  internals  feel  as  soft  and 
roly-poly  as  a  ripe  pomegranate,"  murmured 
Tom,  as  he  set  down  his  empty  glass  and  rubbed 
his  belt-line  in  a  complacent  way. 

"Well,  we'll  fill  up  again,  boys,"  cried  Buck. 
"Here's  to  dear  old  Pierre  Luzon,  for  it  was  sure 
him  who  sent  us  the  mystery  keg." 

"And  to  Dick  Wrilloughby  who  won  the  prize," 
cried  Jack  Rover. 

"And  to  our  host,"  added  Munson  in  a  courtly 
way.  "To  Buck  Ashley,  boys,  the  postmaster 
of  the  new  city  of  Tejon." 


274       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Hip,  hip,  hurrah!" — all  four  voices  shouted 
the  triple  toast  as  the  upraised  glasses  clinked 
merrily. 

Buck  resumed  his  former  position,  with  his 
back  against  the  cracker  boxes. 

"As  I  was  sayin',  boys,  when  that  automobile 
interrupted  us,  I  know  when  I'm  licked.  But 
I  know,  too,  that  the  fightin'  blood  is  still  left 
in  me,  and  I  was  a-goin'  to  remark  that  this  new 
town  sure  'nuff  looks  a  winner.  I've  got  plenty 
of  lumber  right  in  my  back  yard,  and  tomorrer 
mornin*  I  begin  to  have  the  scantlin's  cut,  for,  by 
jingoes,  I'll  be  the  chap  who  will  build  the  first 
buildin*  in  the  new  town." 

* 'Bully  for  you,"  cried  Munson. 

"I  say  what  I  mean,"  continued  Buck,  his  face 
aglow  with  enthusiasm,  "and  on  Tuesday  mornin' 
I'll  buy  the  first  town  lot  if  I  have  to  stand  in  line 
for  forty-eight  hours  to  get  it." 

"Life  in  the  old  dog  yet,"  laughed  Jack  Rover. 

"It's  wonderful  the  effect  of  Pierre  Luzon's 
brew,"  smiled  the  sheriff.  "I  think  we'll  just  have 
four  more  spoonfuls,  Buck,  of  that  distilled 
nectar  of  sunshine.  Success  to  the  new  store, 
old  man!" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
The  Rendezvous 

SUMMER  had  come  and  gone  and  it  was  now 
the  early  days  of  October.  The  mystery 
of  Dick  Willoughby's  disappearance  had 
remained  unsolved,  yet  it  was  on  his  plans  that 
the  new  city  of  Tejon  had  been  laid  out,  and,  like 
the  fabled  palace  in  the  Arabian  Nights'  tale,  had 
sprung  into  being  with  such  rapidity  that  men 
rubbed  their  eyes  to  satisfy  themselves  whether 
the  transformation  scene  were  an  actuality  or  the 
baseless  fabric  of  a  dream.  Within  three  months 
of  the  opening  day  auction  of  lots  Tejon  was  a 
thriving,  hustling  centre  of  population,  with  whole 
avenues  of  beautiful  homes,  several  blocks  of 
stores  on  the  main  street,  schoolhouse  and  other 
public  buildings  well  on  the  way  to  completion. 
Electricity  had  helped  to  the  accomplishment 
of  the  miracle,  for  it  had  been  only  necessary  to 
tap  the  great  power  cables  running  across  the  old 
rancho  from  the  Kern  River  canyon  to  secure  the 
supplies  of  "juice"  both  for  lighting  and  traction 
purposes.  So  there  was  already  an  interurban 

(275) 


276       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

tramway  service  connecting  with  the  county  seat, 
Bakersfield,  while  at  night  the  new  town  was 
a  blaze  of  electricity.  All  around  country  homes 
were  going  up,  and  ten  and  twenty  acre  holdings 
were  being  planted  to  fruit  trees  or  ploughed  for 
alfalfa. 

Ben  Thurston  still  clung  to  the  ranch  house, 
although  it  was  definitely  understood  now  between 
him  and  the  new  owners  that  Thanksgiving  Day 
was  to  be  the  extreme  limit  of  his  occupancy.  The 
hue  and  cry  after  Dick  Willoughby  had  in  a 
measure  subsided,  but,  if  the  authorities  had 
relaxed  their  efforts,  Thurston  still  sought  relent 
lessly  and  indefatigably  for  the  man  accused  of 
the  slaying  of  his  son. 

One  night  at  a  lonely  road-house  on  the  out 
skirts  of  Bakersfield,  the  sleuth,  Leach  Sharkey, 
was  in  close  and  secret  conference  with  a  bent  and 
bowed  old  man.  This  was  none  other  than  Pierre 
Luzon,  although  his  physical  condition  seemed  to 
have  greatly  changed  and  he  answered  now  to  the 
name  of  Jose. 

The  two  men  had  met  a  few  days  before  on  the 
range;  Pierre  had  spoken  of  the  scant  living  he 
was  making  from  a  herd  of  goats  he  pastured  on 
the  mountains,  and  in  the  course  of  conversation 
had  thrown  out  a  hint  for  information  as  to  the 


THE  RENDEZVOUS  277 

amount  of  the  reward  that  Mr.  Thurston  would 
be  willing  to  pay  if  Dick  Willoughby  were  handed 
over  to  him.  Sharkey  had  eagerly  followed  the 
lead  thus  given.  Hence  this  midnight  meeting 
in  the  road-house  parlor  for  the  discussion  of  terms 
and  conditions  over  the  bottle  of  whisky  that 
helps  so  efficaciously  to  dispel  distrust  and 
unloosen  tongues. 

More  than  an  hour  had  been  spent  in  skirmish 
ing  preliminaries,  but  now  Leach  Sharkey  was 
congratulating  himself  that  he  had  got  his  man 
fixed  just  right.  He  was  running  over  the  final 
arrangements  so  as  to  make  sure  that  everything 
was  clearly  understood. 

"Then  Mr.  Thurston  and  myself  are  to  come  to 
Comanche  Point.  You  will  take  us  from  there 
to  the  place  where  we'll  find  Willoughby.  That's 
the  understanding,  Jose?" 

Pierre  nodded  in  acquiescence. 

"And  you  will  bring  wiz  you  ze  reward  of 
five  tousand  dollars — not  gold  or  silver,  remem 
ber,  but  treasury  bills,  for  I  am  not  strong 
enough  now  to  carry  a  very  heavy  weight.  Zen 
when  you  have  paid  me  ze  money,  I  will  lead  you 
to  Mr.  Willoughby." 

"All  right.  I'm  going  to  trust  you  and  take  my 
chances.  But  bear  in  mind  that  you  don't  get 


278       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

away  with  the  cash  until  I  have  actually  put  the 
handcuffs  on  the  man  I'm  after." 

"Oh,  I  will  not  run  away,  Mr.  Sharkey." 

"By  God,  if  you  try  any  monkey  tricks  on  me, 
I'll  shoot  you  in  your  tracks.  Make  no  mistake 
about  that,  Jose.  And  it  will  be  hands  up  first 
to  prove  to  me  you  have  no  gun." 

"As  I  have  promised,"  replied  Pierre  with  some 
dignity,  "I  shall  come  unarmed.  But  remember, 
Mr.  Thurston  and  you  must  be  alone.  If  zere 
are  any  ozers  I  will  not  show  myself — I  will  give 
no  sign." 

"Don't  worry  about  that.  We'll  be  alone.  I 
need  no  other  protection  than  the  two  guns  I 
always  carry."  As  he  spoke,  the  sleuth  slipped  a 
hand  to  one  of  his  hip  pockets,  and  with  a  grim 
smile,  laid  a  vicious-looking  revolver  on  the  table. 

Luzon  evinced  no  disquietude;  he  merely 
smiled. 

"Mr.  Sharkey  he  is  ze  famous  man  wiz  ze  two 
guns.  I  would  take  no  risk  wiz  him.  But  I  wish 
to  win  ze  reward." 

"Well,  then,  the  reward  is  yours  if  you  play  the 
game  straight.  Thurston  and  I  will  be  there,  and 
you  will  be  there  unarmed.  The  hour?" 

"Four  o'clock.  I  will  watch  you  come  to 
Comanche  Point  all  alone  along  ze  road." 


THE  RENDEZVOUS  279 

"You're  certainly  a  cautious  old  duck,"  laughed 
Sharkey.  "However,  that's  all  right.  Few- 
o'clock,  then.  And  you  said  Tuesday  next  week, 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  Tuesday." 

Sharkey  glanced  at  a  big  advertisement  cal 
endar  on  the  wall. 

"That  will  be  the  eleventh  of  the  month.  Then 
I  think  everything  is  understood.  Now  I  want 
to  be  off.  I  can  just  catch  the  last  car  to  Tejon. 
Shake.  You  can  finish  that  drop  of  whisky  by 
yourself,  old  man." 

They  shook  hands  and  Sharkey  was  gone. 

The  other  waited  for  a  few  moments,  cautiously 
and  cunningly  listening  to  the  retreating  footsteps. 
Then  he  sprang  erect,  transformed  in  an  instant 
into  a  hale  and  vigorous  man.  Into  his  eyes  there 
leapt  a  flash  of  joy,  in  his  heart  was  a  song  of 
triumph. 

"So  the  villain  Ben  Thurston  will  be  there  at 
Comanche  Point  on  the  very  anniversary  of  the 
night,  just  thirty  years  ago,  when  he  committed 
that  foul  crime — at  the  very  spot  where  the  poor 
little  Senorita  Rosetta  and  her  unborn  babe 
perished  at  his  hands.  Glory  be  to  God!  At  last 
the  hour  of  vengeance  comes!" 


CHAPTER  XXX 
Don  Manuel  Appears 

A  GOODLY  little  sack  of  water-worn  nuggets 
of  gold  had  been  washed  out  of  the  sub 
terranean  stream  by  Pierre  Luzon  and  Dick 
Willoughby.  The  captive  had  found  in  the  work 
both  an  exciting  pastime  and  the  ease  of  mind 
that  comes  from  the  thought  that  his  time  was 
being  spent  to  profitable  account.  So  week  after 
week  he  had  toiled  on  cheerfully,  setting  for  himself 
each  day  a  full  day's  task.  In  this  way  also, 
although  the  want  of  sunshine  had  paled  his 
cheeks,  he  had  maintained  his  health  by  the  regu 
lar  physical  exercise. 

But  as  the  appointed  date  of  his  release  drew 
near,  Dick's  mining  enthusiasm  suffered  an  eclipse. 
The  gold  no  longer  tempted  him,  the  eight-hour 
day  became  a  burden  to  his  soul,  his  whole  being 
was  possessed  with  feverish  restlessness.  He  was 
not  only  filled  with  eager  excitement  at  the 
thought  of  again  folding  Merle  in  his  arms,  but 
he  was  fired  with  curiosity  to  know  what  events 
were  happening  outside  which  would  enable  him 


The  Fight  on  the  Cliff— Page  360 


DON  MANUEL  APPEARS  281 

to  step  forth  a  free  man,  exculpated  from  all 
connection  with  the  crime  of  which  he  had  been 
suspected,  restored  to  an  honorable  place  among 
his  fellow  men. 

But  Pierre  remained  obstinately  deaf  to  all 
hints  for  information. 

"I  can  say  nozing,"  was  his  invariable  reply. 
Then,  to  divert  Dick's  mind,  he  would  challenge 
him  at  chess,  a  game  in  which  they  had  proved 
to  be  pretty  equally  matched,  or  he  would  produce 
the  latest  batch  of  newspapers. 

The  young  fellow  had  read  with  great  delight  the 
announcement  that  his  plans  for  the  ideal  city  had 
been  awarded  the  prize  of  ten  thousand  dollars. 
Still  more  welcome  had  been  the  warmly  con 
gratulatory  note  received  from  Merle  at  the  hands 
of  Pierre;  for  this  letter,  while  it  made  no  reference 
to  the  point,  virtually  sealed  the  pact  between 
the  two  lovers  that  the  money  would  provide  for 
a  glorious  honeymoon  trip  to  Europe.  Dick  had 
sent  instructions  to  Munson  to  notify  the  Los 
Angeles  syndicate  in  his  name  that  the  reward 
was  to  remain  to  the  credit  of  the  winner  until 
he  would  come  personally  to  Tejon  to  claim  it, 
probably  about  the  middle  of  October. 

It  wanted  now  only  two  days  of  the  fateful 
date,  the  eleventh  of  that  month.  Dick  had 


282       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

already  gathered  together  his  personal  belongings 
ready  for  removal.  He  was  pacing  the  grotto, 
when  his  eye  chanced  to  fall  upon  the  sack  of 
gold. 

"I  forgot  about  that,  Pierre,  old  fellow,"  he 
remarked.  "We  have  to  divide  this  spoil." 

"No,"  replied  Pierre,  with  quie.t  determination, 
"it  is  all  yours,  Mr.  Willoughby,  honestly  earned, 
too.  I  have  no  need  for  any  of  ze  gold.  I  have 
all  ze  money  I  can  ever  spend  during  ze  rest  of 
my  life." 

No  amount  of  argument  could  shake  the  old 
Frenchman's  resolution. 

"Then  what  is  to  be  done  with  the  sack?  By 
jove,  I'll  share  it  with  our  Hidden  Treasure 
Syndicate.  By  the  way,  where  is  Jack  Rover 
now,  Pierre?" 

"He  is  living  in  Buck  Ashley's  old  store.  Buck, 
you  know,  is  ze  postmaster  at  Tejon,  and  has  a 
splendid  store  in  ze  new  city.  But  Jack  Rover, 
he  just  hang  about  ze  old  place." 

"Well,  Pierre,  I've  got  a  plan.  You  say  it  will 
not  be  until  Tuesday  afternoon  that  I  leave  these 
quarters?" 

"Zat  is  so,  and  I  am  sorry  you  must  still  wear 
ze  blindfold,  but  it  will  be  for  ze  last  time  now." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  kicking  about  that.     I  know  the 


DON  MANUEL  APPEARS  283 

conditions  under  which  I  came  here.  But  it 
will  be  evening  when  we  get  clear  of  the 
hills,  and  I  won't  have  any  particular  place  to 
go  to.  Next  morning  it  will  be  best  for  me 
to  ride  right  over  to  Bakersfield,  to  surrender 
myself  and  secure  my  formal  discharge.  When, 
did  you  say,  am  I  to  get  the  necessary  docu 
ments  for  all  this?" 

"Before  you  depart  from  ze  cave." 

"Well,  everything  will  fit  in  fine.  Tomorrow 
you  have  kindly  promised  to  take  out  my 
things.  Just  carry  the  nuggets  along  with  you 
also,  and  leave  everything  in  Jack's  charge. 
But  tell  him  that  nothing  must  be  opened  or 
disturbed  until  I  arrive.  I'm  going  to  give 
Jack  Rover  the  surprise  of  his  life  when  he 
sees  that  gold.  The  sack  is  too  heavy  to  handle, 
but  I  guess  we  can  make  it  into  several  pack 
ages.  Jack  was  always  crazy  to  find  Guadalupe's 
sand-bar." 

"So  were  lots  of  ozers,"  grinned  Pierre.  "But 
they  have  never  found  it  yet.  Even  you  will 
not  be  able  to  find  it  again  when  you  are  led  out 
of  zese  hills  wearing  ze  blindfold." 

"I  am  fully  aware  of  that,  old  man,"  laughed 
Dick  in  reply.  "I  suppose  I  couldn't  discover 
the  place  again  in  a  hundred  years.  But  Jack's 


284       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

eyes  will  fairly  pop  when  he  sees  that  bunch  of 
gold  marbles.  He  will  be  mighty  pleased  to  show 
the  nuggets  around  to  some  of  the  boys  who  have 
laughed  over  his  enthusiasm,  always  declaring 
that  Guadalupe's  gold  simply  came  from  some 
old-timer's  sack  of  dust  that  had  been  part  of 
Joaquin  Murietta's  plunder." 

"Oh,  no.  All  ze  bandits  get  out  much  gold 
from  ze  riffle  in  zose  days — Don  Manuel  himself 
had  plenty." 

"Well,  Pierre,  you  just  pack  all  my  belongings 
to  Buck  Ashley's  old  store.  And  you  tell  Jack 
Rover  to  expect  me  about  six  o'clock  the  night 
after  tomorrow — that's  Tuesday.  And  I  wish 
Munson  to  be  there,  too — I'll  want  him  to  accom 
pany  me  to  Bakersfield." 

"If  you  write  a  leetle  note  to  ze  lieutenant," 
suggested  Pierre,  "I  will  see  zat  it  reaches  his 
hands.  But  you  must  say  very  leetle — just  a 
few  words.  For  nozing  must  be  told  to  anyone 
outside  until  you  are  free." 

"All  right,  Pierre.  Here  goes."  And  Dick 
seated  himself  at  the  writing  table.  In  a  very 
few  moments  he  had  completed  his  task. 

"See,"  he  said,  returning  to  Pierre's  side.  "I 
wish  you  to  know  exactly  what  I  have 
written — just  a  hurried  scrawl."  And  he  read 


DON  MANUEL  APPEARS  285 

aloud    while    the   old    Frenchman's    eyes    rested 
on  the  paper: 

"On  Tuesday  night  next,  about  six  o'clock,  meet  me  at 
Buck  Ashley's  old  store.  I  shall  want  you  to  ride  over  to 
Bakersfield  with  me  next  morning,  where  my  acquittal  is 
assured.  Give  Merle  the  glad  news.  Yours,  DICK." 

"Guess  that's  all  right?"  he  added,  as  he 
folded  the  note  and  placed  it  in  an  envelope  on 
which  he  had  already  inscribed  the  name  of 
Lieutenant  Munson. 

Pierre  had  signified  his  approval  with  a  nod, 
and  now  he  carefully  bestowed  the  letter  in  the 
pocket  of  his  shirt. 

"He  will  get  ze  letter — he  will  surely  be  zere." 

"Then  you  say  I  cannot  write  to  Merle — Miss 
Farnsworth,  I  mean?" 

"I  have  ze  strictest  orders,"  replied  Pierre. 
"Nozing  must  be  told  just  yet.  Bah!  It  is  only 
two  days  more." 

"Two  mighty  long  days  for  me,  old  sport," 
said  Dick,  half  in  jest  and  hah*  in  sober  earnest, 
as  he  sat  down  and  began  cutting  at  a  plug  of 
tobacco. 

Most  of  next  day  Willoughby  was  alone.  But 
at  the  regular  dinner  hour  Pierre  appeared,  and 
announced  that  he  had  safely  packed  the  valise 
and  the  gold  in  four  bags  to  the  old  store,  and  Jack 


286       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Rover  had  been  apprised  of  Dick's  coming  on  the 
following  night. 

"He  knew  what  was  in  ze  sacks,"  laughed 
Pierre.  "Zey  were  so  very  heavy,  oh  my!  But 
I  told  him  I  would  come  back  and  shoot  him 
like  a  jack-rabbit  if  he  opened  zem  before  you 
came." 

"Guess  it  needed  an  old  bandit  like  you  to 
scare  Jack  Rover,"  replied  Dick,  jocularly.  But 
he  was  very  happy — everything  was  going  along 
well — only  another  four-and-twenty  hours  now 
and  his  captivity  would  be  at  an  end. 

That  night  Dick  could  hardly  sleep  a  wink, 
and  next  morning  he  was  too  restless  and  impatient 
for  his  approaching  liberation  to  keep  within  the 
confines  of  the  little  grotto.  In  the  darkness  of 
the  big  central  cavern  he  walked  up  and  down, 
casting  occasional  glances  at  the  distant  glow  of 
the  log  fire  where,  as  he  could  see,  both  the  aged 
squaw  and  the  white  wolf  were  on  vigilant  and 
ceaseless  guard. 

Suddenly  his  steps  were  arrested.  With  great 
surprise  he  gazed  toward  the  log  fire.  There, 
with  Guadalupe  and  the  white  wolf,  stood  the 
figure  of  a  strange  man,  cloaked  and  wearing  a 
big  sombrero.  All  their  shapes  were  outlined 
against  the  ruddy  glow,  and  the  monstrous  beast 


DON  MANUEL  APPEARS  287 

was  actually  fawning  at  the  newcomer's  feet.  A 
moment  later  the  stranger,  with  a  parting  wave 
of  his  hand  to  Guadalupe,  advanced  toward  the 
spot  where  Dick  was  standing.  Close  by  was  an 
oil  lantern  set  in  a  socket  of  the  rock  wall  to  mark 
the  entrance  to  the  inner  grotto. 

For  a  minute  the  approaching  figure  had  been 
swallowed  up  in  the  darkness,  but  now  came 
the  sound  of  his  footsteps  crunching  on  the  sandy 
floor,  and  a  few  seconds  later  he  appeared  in  the 
flickering  radiance.  Dick  Willoughby  had  already 
made  his  inference  as  to  the  identity  of  the  new 
comer — he  had  been  so  often  told  that  no  living 
man  but  the  bandit  chief,  Don  Manuel,  could 
pass  the  white  wolf  with  impunity. 

But  the  name  Dick  pronounced  was  quite  a 
different  one. 

"Senor  Ricardo  Robles — it  is  you — you?" 

"It  is  I,"  replied  the  Spaniard,  quietly,  as  he 
extended  his  hand. 

"Then  you  are — Don  Manuel — the — 

Dick  faltered  and  paused. 

"Yes,  I  am  Don  Manuel  de  Valencia,  the  out 
law,  the  bandit  of  Tehachapi,  the  White  Wolf,  as 
he  is  commonly  called.  Come  within,  my  friend. 
I  have  matters  of  importance  to  communicate." 

And  the  visitor  led  the  way  with  an  ease  that 


288       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

showed  his  perfect  familiarity  with  every  opening 
and  turning  in  the  great  subterranean  series  of 
chambers. 

"I  cannot  remain  with  you  very  long,"  said 
Mr.  Robles,  when  they  were  seated  in  the  inner 
grotto,  "for  I  have  a  number  of  things  to  attend 
to  during  the  few  hours  that  still  remain  at  my 
disposal." 

"I  must  not  ask  questions,"  remarked  Dick, 
although  his  words  belied  the  questioning  look 
in  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  although  I  speak  in  confidence,"  Mr. 
Robles  replied,  "having  learned  to  trust  you,  I 
shall  make  no  secret  of  my  contemplated  move 
ments.  Tonight  I  hope  to  settle  my  last  score" — 
he  paused,  then  corrected  himself — "my  last 
piece  of  business  in  California.  If  all  goes  well, 
within  twenty-four  hours  I  shall  be  on  the  high 
seas.  Never  mind  my  exact  route,  but  my  final 
destination  is  Spain,  the  land  of  my  fathers. 
There,  perhaps,  you  and  I  may  meet  again." 

"I  hope  so.  I  have  come  to  be  deeply  interested 
in  you,  Mr.  Robles." 

"And  I  in  you,  young  man,  all  the  more  because 
you  are  now  engaged  to  one  I  hold  very  dear. 
Since  her  birth,  Merle  Farnsworth  has  been  a — 
little  protegee  of  mine."  Again  he  had  hesitated, 


DON  MANUEL  APPEARS  289 

and  his  voice  had  vibrated  from  emotion.  But 
he  was  smiling  now  as  he  went  on:  "I  have 
watched  with  sympathetic  interest  and  approval 
the  progress  of  your  love  affair." 

"Through  your  spy-glass  on  the  tower?"  laughed 
Dick. 

"Well,  partly  in  that  way,  perhaps,"  replied 
Mr.  Robles,  with  eyebrows  humorously  upraised. 
"You  have  had  my  quiet  support  from  beginning 
to  end,  and  now  that  you  have  won  the  young 
lady's  heart,  you  have  my  most  sincere  congratu 
lations.  May  you  have  long  years  together,  and 
every  happiness." 

He  had  clasped  Dick's  hand,  and  placed  his 
disengaged  hand  affectionately  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder. 

"You  are  really  very  kind,"  said  Dick,  cordially 
responding  to  the  hand  clasp. 

"Because  I  have  counted  you  worthy  of  your 
great  good  fortune  in  winning  such  a  girl  as  Merle. 
And  I  have  taken  much  the  same  liking  to  your 
friend,  Chester  Munson.  Have  you  heard  the 
news?" 

"No,  but  I  can  guess  it." 

"Yes,  he  and  Grace  Darlington  are  engaged. 
And  to  them  I  give  my  heartiest  blessing  just  as  I 
have  given  it  to  you  and  Merle.  For  Grace,  like 


290       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

her  adopted  sister,  has  been  always  very  dear  to 
me.  I  have  loved  them  both  very  dearly  indeed 
all  through  their  young  lives." 

"And  both  are  devoted  to  you,  as  I  happen  to 
know,"  affirmed  Dick  with  warm  conviction. 

"I  believe  it,"  replied  Mr.  Robles.  His  hand 
sought  an  inner  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  legal- 
looking  document.  "I  came  here  not  only  to 
bid  you  good-bye,  but  more  important  still  to  place 
this  in  your  possession." 

"My  release?"  exclaimed  Dick  eagerly,  as  his 
fingers  closed  on  the  paper. 

"Well,  not  exactly — but  it  will  lead  to  that, 
never  fear.  It  is  an  affidavit  which  has  been 
properly  sworn  to  before  a  San  Francisco  notary 
public.  It  briefly  sets  out  my  confession.  It 
was  I,  Don  Manuel  de  Valencia,  who  killed 
Marshall  Thurston,  or  at  least  was  responsible 
for  his  killing." 

As  he  spoke  the  words,  the  outlaw  drew  himself 
proudly  erect.  Dick  was  too  overwhelmed  with 
amazement  to  reply. 

"The  young  ruffian  was  shot  partly  because  he 
deserved  his  fate  for  insulting  Merle,  partly  be 
cause,  as  you  cannot  but  know,  Don  Manuel,  the 
White  Wolf,  had  sworn  a  vendetta  against  the 
whole  Thurston  brood." 


DON  MANUEL  APPEARS  291 

"Then  Ben  Thurston — is  he  dead,  too?"  gasped 
the  listener. 

"Not  yet,"  was  the  grim  reply.  Then  he 
paused  and  changed  his  tone. 

"But  I  want  to  speak  not  another  word  about 
this.  What  happens  to  Ben  Thurston  is  nothing 
of  your  concern — must  be  nothing  of  your  concern. 
For  this  document  here  frees  you  from  all  legal 
entanglements,  and  I  have  no  wish  that  you 
should  by  any  chance  become  enmeshed  again. 
So  we  dismiss  Ben  Thurston  from  our  talk  and 
from  our  minds.  When  you  lodge  this  paper 
with  the  authorities  at  Bakersfield,  it  will  be  a 
matter  only  of  a  few  formalities  to  secure  dis 
missal  of  the  charge  against  you.  For  I  even  put 
it  on  sworn  record  that  your  jail  delivery  that 
night  was  against  your  will." 

"I  have  forgotten  to  thank  you  for  that  same 
delivery.  I  never  dreamed  you  were  my  liberator, 
Mr.  Robles." 

"Because  that  night  I  was  Don  Manuel  de 
Valencia.  But  at  present  I  am  Ricardo  Robles, 
and  in  that  capacity  it  is  for  me  to  thank  you  for 
having  so  chivalrously  protected  our  dear  Merle 
from  the  necessity  of  associating  her  name  in  any 
way  with  the  death  of  that  worthless  young 
scoundrel.  I  appreciate  the  cheerful  manner  in 


292      A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

which  you  have,  for  her  sake,  and  let  me  add, 
for  my  sake,  too,  borne  your  long  imprisonment 
here." 

"I've  been  mighty  comfortable,"  laughed  Dick, 
with  a  glance  around  his  luxurious  quarters. 
"And  Pierre  Luzon  has  been  a  treasure — a  good 
comrade  all  the  time." 

"Ah,  yes,  Pierre,"  exclaimed  the  outlaw, 
musingly.  "Pierre  is  a  very  good  fellow.  He 
has  been  faithful  to  me  for  thirty  long  years." 

"And  where  does  he  go  after  tonight?"  asked 
Dick.  "He  cannot  stay  here,  all  alone  except 
for  Guadalupe." 

"Everything  is  arranged.  Guadalupe  is  ac 
customed  to  live  alone.  But  tonight  Pierre 
accompanies  me  on  my  long  journey." 

"So  we  may  all  meet  again?" 

"Yes,  we  may  all  meet  again,"  responded 
Robles,  slowly  and  gravely,  "far,  far  away  from 
the  Tehachapi  mountains.  But  now  I  must  go," 
he  went  on  in  a  brisk  tone,  "for  I  have  to  make 
some  final  preparations.  You  have  the  affidavit ; 
see  that  you  do  not  lose  it  on  your  ride  down  the 
mountains." 

"You  just  bet  I  won't,"  replied  Dick,  as  he 
held  tightly  to  the  precious  document  with  both 
hands. 


DON  MANUEL  APPEARS  293 

"Pierre  will  come  for  you  here  early  in  the  after 
noon.  Be  prepared  to  go  with  him  then.  As 
for  myself,  Willoughby,  there  is  for  the  present 
only  one  word  more  to  be  spoken.  Adios!" 

Again  they  clasped  hands,  and  a  moment  later 
Don  Manuel  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
Shadows  of  the  Past 

IN  a  little  summer-house  at  the  edge  of  the  rose 
garden  of  La  Siesta,  Tia  Teresa  was  seated 
all  alone.  She  was  awaiting  the  coming  of 
Mr.  Robles  to  a  rendezvous  which  he  had  ar 
ranged  by  a  confidential  message  sent  on  the  pre 
vious  evening.  It  wanted  some  time  yet  of  the 
appointed  hour,  but  in  her  state  of  deep  emotion 
and  repressed  excitement  she  had  gladly  sought 
the  solitude  of  this  secluded  corner.  Deep  in 
thought,  her  mind  was  divided  between  the  far 
away  past  and  the  near-impending  future. 

Each  recurring  year  this  day  to  her  had  always 
been  a  sad  and  tragic  anniversary.  In  the  early 
hours  of  the  morning  she  had  been  to  the  old 
Mexican  cemetery  on  the  hillside,  and  had  be 
decked  with  flowers  the  grave  marked  by  the 
marble  cross  bearing  the  single  word  "Hermana," 
also  the  graves  close  by  of  the  parents  of  Don 
Manuel  and  Rosetta,  the  children  she  had  nursed 
and  tended  and  fondled  from  infancy  to  early 
manhood  and  womanhood,  through  twenty  years 

(294) 


SHADOWS  OF  THE  PAST  295 

of  unalloyed  happiness  until  the  gringo  had  come, 
the  ancestral  acres  had  been  filched  away,  and 
dishonor  and  death  been  brought  to  the  slum- 
brously  peaceful  home. 

And  from  that  slumbrous  peace  what  a  sudden 
and  terrible  change!  On  this  day  thirty  years 
ago  poor  little  Rosetta  had  been  found  done  to 
death  beneath  the  precipice  at  Comanche  Point. 
No  less  done  to  death  by  the  shock  and  shame  of 
the  pitiful  story  thus  revealed,  the  aged  parents 
of  the  beautiful  young  girl  were,  within  a  few  days, 
sleeping  their  long  last  sleep  by  her  side  in  the 
churchyard  on  the  hill.  A  whole  family  blighted 
and  withered  as  by  the  blast  of  some  death-laden 
sirocco. 

Then  had  followed  the  years  of  terror  during 
which  Don  Manuel,  the  White  Wolf,  the  dreaded 
outlaw,  had  wreaked  his  vengeance  on  the  whole 
race  of  gringos.  She  had  never  seen  him  all 
through  that  time,  although  at  intervals  money 
had  reached  her  by  Pierre  Luzon's  trusted  hand, 
enabling  her  to  maintain  herself  in  the  little 
Mexican  village  near  the  old  fort  of  Tejon.  At 
last  had  come  the  fight  when  the  band  of 
outlaws  had  been  finally  dispersed,  Pierre  Luzon 
wounded  and  dragged  away  to  serve  the  rest 
of  his  days  in  prison,  Don  Manuel  vanished 


296       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

like  a  wraith  in  the  mist,  gone  where  no  man 
could  tell. 

But  through  the  years  that  succeeded,  Tia 
Teresa  had  known  that  he  lived — had  known  in 
her  heart  of  hearts  that  he  would  live  until  the 
vendetta  he  had  sworn  against  Ben  Thurston 
would  be  accomplished.  The  remittances  that 
arrived  from  time  to  time,  first  from  Spain,  then 
from  England,  needed  no  signature  to  show  that 
they  were  from  her  young  master  of  former  years 
and  that  he  still  held  his  faithful  old  nurse  in 
affectionate  remembrance.  And  at  last  had  come 
the  crowning  surprise  of  all. 

Tia  Teresa  had  been  bidden  to  come  to  Los 
Angeles  by  a  letter  which  bore  a  strange  signature, 
but  the  handwriting  of  which  she  had  immediately 
recognized.  And  there,  in  a  fine  home  beneath  the 
foothills  that  skirt  the  city  to  the  north,  she  had 
found  Don  Manuel  again,  much  older  in  manner 
than  by  lapse  of  years — quiet,  reserved,  tinged 
with  a  sadness  of  which  she  knew  the  cause,  but 
happy  withal,  for  he  was  married  to  a  beautiful 
English  girl  and  had  a  little  baby  daughter.  And 
as  nurse  to  this  child  Tia  Teresa,  to  her  great  joy, 
was  promptly  installed. 

Thus  again  she  had  become  the  trusted  ser 
vant  in  Don  Manuel's  home,  the  only  one  around 


SHADOWS  OF  THE  PAST  297 

him  possessing  his  full  confidence  and  knowing  the 
secret  story  of  his  past.  For,  amid  these  changed 
surroundings,  his  name  was  Ricardo  Robles,  his 
standing  that  of  a  Spaniard  or  Mexican  of  wealth, 
of  scholarly  tastes,  and  devoted  to  the  seclusion 
of  his  home  with  its  spacious  surrounding  gardens. 

Their  next  door  neighbors  were  an  English 
family  named  Darlington,  Mrs.  Darlington  and 
Mrs.  Robles  having  been  life-long  friends.  And 
here,  too,  was  another  tiny  child  in  the  home, 
likewise  a  daughter. 

Seated  in  the  summer-house,  Tia  Teresa  was 
going  over  in  her  mind  the  whole  chain  of  happen 
ings — the  new  era  that  had  dawned  and  had 
brought  the  hope  of  restored  and  abiding  happi 
ness  for  Don  Manuel.  But  it  had  been  fated  not  so 
to  be.  Within  a  year  his  young  wife  had  died, 
his  child  was  motherless,  he  himself,  if  not  alone 
in  the  world,  was  broken-hearted.  For  a  spell  he 
had  fits  of  brooding,  then  all  of  a  sudden  he  had 
sold  the  home  that  could  only  henceforth  be  for 
him  a  place  of  saddening  memories. 

His  daughter  Merle,  taking  her  English  mother's 
maiden  name  of  Farnsworth,  was  transferred  to 
the  loving  care  of  Mrs.  Darlington.  Thus  had 
it  come  about  that  Grace  Darlington  and  Merle 
Farnsworth  had  been  brought  up  as  sisters,  with 


298       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Tia  Teresa  their  nurse,  and  in  later  years  their 
devoted  attendant. 

Ricardo  Robles  had  resolved  to  travel,  but  Tia 
Teresa  had  quickly  divined  that  the  vendetta 
was  again  in  his  heart.  For  no  other  reason  could 
he  have  decided  on  masking  the  paternity  of  his 
infant  daughter  by  giving  her  the  maternal  name. 
And  from  Tia  Teresa  Don  Manuel  had  no  secret 
to  conceal.  "Yes."  He  had  sworn  he  would  hunt 
Ben  Thurston  through  Europe,  and  it  was  to 
protect  the  future  life  of  his  child  from  any  asso 
ciation  with  future  consequences  of  the  blood  feud 
that  he  had  handed  her  over  to  his  friends  under 
their  solemn  promise  that,  as  Merle  grew  up,  she 
should  never  know  anything  more  than  that  both 
her  parents  had  died. 

So  once  again  Don  Manuel  had  gone  his  way 
and  disappeared.  Some  years  later  the  Darling 
ton  home  had  been  transferred  to  England,  where 
Mr.  Darlington  had  fallen  heir  to  some  ancestral 
estates.  Again,  after  a  lapse  of  years,  another 
change  had  occurred — Mr.  Darlington  dying,  and 
Mrs.  Darlington  being  left  a  widow  in  the  big, 
now  gloomy,  English  country-house,  with  Grace 
and  Merle  approaching  young  womanhood,  and 
all  of  them,  Tia  Teresa  included,  longing  again 
for  the  sunshine  of  California. 


SHADOWS  OF  THE  PAST  299 

Intermittently  during  those  years  in  England, 
Ricardo  Robles  had  visited  his  friends,  but  the 
secret  about  his  real  relationship  to  Merle  had 
always  been  preserved.  Both  daughters  in  the 
home  had  been  brought  up  alike  to  regard  him 
simply  as  a  dear  and  valued  friend,  whose  com 
ings  brought  much  happiness  to  their  lives  in 
the  shape  of  gifts  which  preserved  fond  memories 
during  his  prolonged  spells  of  absence. 

And  while  the  little  family  was  still  plunged 
in  deep  sorrow  for  the  death  of  Mr.  Darlington, 
Mr.  Robles  had  reappeared  as  the  messenger  of 
great  joy.  For  he  brought  the  news  that  the 
beautiful  rancho  of  La  Siesta,  lying  in  mid-Cali 
fornia,  among  the  foothills  of  the  Tejon  Valley, 
had  been  purchased  for  the  express  purpose  that 
the  widow  and  children  should  make  it  their 
future  place  of  abode.  In  this  way  had  come  about 
the  return  to  the  land  which  each  and  all  already 
loved  best  and  regarded  as  truly  "home." 

"Five  years  ago!"  murmured  Tia  Teresa  pen 
sively.  And  they  had  been  all  so  happy  here, 
the  young  girls  growing  up  with  every  accomplish 
ment  money  and  the  best  governesses  could 
bestow,  Don  Manuel  not  far  away  watching  the 
progress  and  developing  beauty  of  his  daughter, 
always  hovering  near  for  acts  of  helpful  kindness. 


300       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Five  years  of  placid  enjoyment,  of  unbroken 
tranquility,  till  all  of  a  sudden  the  old  enemy  had 
returned  and  all  the  rankling  wounds  of  the  old 
vendetta  had  been  reopened! 

In  the  Spanish  soul  of  Tia  Teresa  there  was 
bitter  hate  still,  and  fierce  joy  even  now  that  the 
hour  of  retribution  was  approaching — that  at 
last  after  all  those  years  her  little  Rosetta  would 
be  avenged.  Yet  time  had  had  some  mellowing 
influences,  for  in  her  musings  now  she  experienced 
a  vague  sense  of  uneasiness  for  possible  conse 
quences  that  in  former  times  had  never  for  a 
moment  been  tolerated.  The  true  spirit  of  the 
vendetta  had  always  been  in  her  very  blood — 
strike  when  you  can,  without  thought  of  what 
may  happen  next. 

But  now  she  was  thinking  of  coming  happenings 
— of  sorrow  perhaps  for  Merle,  of  the  undoubted 
danger  for  Don  Manuel  himself. 

And  while  thus  she  conned  the  chances,  her 
head  bent  in  deep  meditation,  her  eyes  hah*  closed, 
Ricardo  Robles,  approaching  with  noiseless  step, 
stood  by  her  side  and  laid  an  affectionate  hand 
upon  her  shoulder. 

"I  have  come,  Tia  Teresa,"  he  said  simply,  as 
he  sat  down  at  the  edge  of  the  little  rustic  table. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
Forebodings 

'  I    ^OR  this  last  hour,  Don  Manuel,"  she  said, 

M     placing  a  hand  on  his,  "I  have  been  going 

over  all  the  long  story  of  the  past,  from 

the  days  when  you  were  a  little  boy  and  Rosetta 

was  suckled  at  my  bosom.     Why  should  I  not 

have  loved  her?"  asked  the  old  duenna  almost 

fiercely.     "Why  should  I  not  love  her  still?"  she 

added,  in  a  lower  tone,  as  she  bowed  her  head 

and  covered  her  eyes  with  her  disengaged  hand. 

"There  is  love  that  can  never  die,  Don  Manuel." 

"Nor  should  we  wish  it  otherwise,"  he  said 
gently,  caressing  the  hand  extended  toward  him. 
"And  this  very  night  our  undying  love  for  dear 
little  Rosetta  will  be  proved — tonight  at  last  she 
will  be  avenged." 

With  a  start  Tia  Teresa  sat  erect. 

"Then  it  is  all  arranged?"  she  asked  breath 
lessly. 

"Yes,  all  finally  arranged,"  was  his  quiet 
rejoinder.  "We  meet  this  evening  on  Comanche 
Point — the  place  where  I  have  always  vowed  he 

(301) 


302       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

should  answer  for  his  crime.  And  you  remember 
what  day  this  is?" 

"I  remember — can  I  ever  forget? — the  very 
day  we  found  her  dead  beneath  the  cliff." 

"The  very  day,  Tia  Teresa.  So  my  vengeance 
will  be  complete.  Before  now  I  could  have  shot 
him  a  dozen  times.  But  he  would  never  have 
known  that  his  death  was  by  my  hand.  Tonight, 
however,  he  will  know.  And  he  will  realize  that 
the  vendetta  is  the  law  of  God — an  eye  for  an  eye, 
a  tooth  for  a  tooth;  his  life,  so  precious  to  himself, 
for  hers  so  dear  to  us  in  the  happy  old-time 
days." 

"But  you,  Don  Manuel?"  she  asked  fearfully. 

"It  does  not  matter  much  about  me,"  he 
answered.  "But  all  the  same  I  have  come  to 
speak  a  little  in  regard  to  myself.  Tonight  Ben 
Thurston  assuredly  will  die,  and  should  I  perish 
with  him,  the  story  of  the  vendetta  cannot  fail  to 
be  revived  and  the  identity  of  the  recluse,  Ricardo 
Robles,  with  Don  Manuel,  the  outlaw,  will  be 
established.  This  will  come  as  a  great  shock  to 
all  my  dear  friends  at  La  Siesta — to  Mrs.  Darling 
ton  as  well  as  to  Grace  and  Merle.  But  this 
counts  for  little — the  name  of  Don  Manuel  is 
just  as  honorable  a  name  as  that  of  Robles.  And 
you  can  tell  them  further  that  all  the  loot  I  ever 


FOREBODINGS  303 

took  from  the  gringos  lies  today  untouched  in 
Joaquin  Murietta's  cave.  I  sullied  my  hands 
with  none  of  it.  I  was  made  rich  by  the  sale  of, 
my  ancestral  estates  in  Spain.  And  that  wealth 
the  law  cannot  confiscate,  for  I  have  been  only 
its  trustee  during  all  those  years.  Everything  I 
possess  has  been  vested  from  the  first  in  the  names 
of  Merle  Farnsworth  and  Grace  Darlington." 

"Grace  as  well?"  mumured  Tia  Teresa,  enquir 
ingly. 

"Certainly,  for  I  love  both  the  girls  dearly; 
there  is  ample  to  divide  between  them,  and  by 
ranking  them  together  I  guard  Merle  from  the 
thought  that  I  was  anything  more  to  her  than  to 
Grace.  To  both  alike  I  was  just  a  deeply  attached 
friend."  He  paused  a  moment,  then  regarded 
Tia  Teresa  fixedly.  "For  my  little  girl  must 
never  know  that  her  father  was  an  outlaw,  with 
a  price  on  his  head;  yes,  with  blood  on  his  hands, 
if  it  is  only  the  blood  of  the  worthless  Thurston 
breed." 

"That  is  no  stain — it  is  an  honor — it  is  a  duty 
that  you  owed,"  exclaimed  the  duenna  with 
fervency,  her  hands  clenched  against  her  bosom 
as  she  spoke. 

"You  understand — we  understand  the  ven 
detta,  you  and  I,  Tia  Teresa.  But  the  Americanos 


304       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

do  not  understand.  And  I  have  brought  up  my 
little  girl  as  an  American,  for  her  own  happiness 
I  long  ago  realized.  So  she  would  never  under 
stand.  When  she  conies  to  know  that  her  old 
friend  Ricardo  Robles  was  Don  Manuel  de 
Valencia  as  well,  she  will  breathe  a  gentle  prayer 
of  rest  for  his  soul.  But  she  will  not  be  distressed 
by  the  knowledge  that  her  father  was  the  bandit 
and  outlaw — she  will  not  have  to  face  the  cruel 
world  with  that  stigma  attached  to  her  name. 
For  that  I  have  contrived,  for  that  I  have  suffered 
the  dumb  agony  of  childlessness  all  these  years." 

"And  that,  in  God's  name,"  exclaimed  Tia 
Teresa,  "is  part  of  the  price  Ben  Thurston,  thrice 
accursed,  has  to  pay." 

"And  tonight  will  pay, "responded  Don  Manuel, 
determinedly.  "But  I  speak  of  all  this  just  to  put 
you  on  your  guard.  It  will  be  necessary  for  me  to 
say  something  to  Mrs.  Darlington  as  well.  I 
have  brought  for  her  the  papers  that  will  establish 
the  rights  of  Merle  and  Grace  to  all  I  leave  behind." 
As  he  spoke  he  touched  his  coat  where  the  shape 
of  a  packet  in  an  inner  pocket  showed. 

"Your  will?" 

"No.  As  I  have  explained,  I  require  no  will. 
The  property  is  theirs  already.  And  I  do  not  need 
to  tell  you,  my  dear  Tia  Teresa,  my  beloved 


FOREBODINGS  305 

friend,  that  you,  too,  have  not  been  forgotten." 

As  he  spoke  he  raised  her  hand  and  pressed  it 
reverently  to  his  lips. 

"Don't  speak  like  that,  Don  Manuel,"  she  pro 
tested. 

"I  know  that  all  I  owe  to  you  can  never  be 
repaid,"  he  continued,  humbly,  gratefully — "the 
devoted  life-service  for  me  and  for  Rosetta  and 
our  beloved  parents  as  well." 

Again  he  kissed  her  hand,  and  this  time  she 
accepted  the  seal  of  his  high-souled  and  chivalrous 
regard.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  now. 

"But,  Don  Manuel,  you  need  not  die  tonight. 
Death  for  him — that  is  right.  But  why  for  you?" 

"Perhaps  not  for  me — most  certainly,"  he 
replied  with  a  little  reassuring  smile.  "Oh,  do 
not  imagine  that  I  deliberately  court  death  for 
tonight.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  all  my  plans 
carefully  laid.  An  automobile  is  ready  for  the 
road,  and  I  have  a  yacht  waiting  for  me  at  a  quiet 
spot  on  the  coast,  and  if  all  is  well,  by  tomorrow's 
dawn  Pierre  and  I  will  be  on  the  ocean.  No  one 
around  here  except  at  La  Siesta  will  miss  Ricardo 
Robles,  and  if  the  name  of  Don  Manuel  is  asso 
ciated  with  the  death  of  Ben  Thurston,  only  once 
more  will  the  White  Wolf  have  strangely  dis 
appeared  just  as  he  used  to  do  in  the  old  times." 


306       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

He  was  laughing,  not  loudly,  but  just  with  care 
free,  almost  joyous  triumph,  as  he  rose  to  say 
good-bye. 

"Then,  Tia  Teresa,  if  events  work  out  just  as 
I  have  planned,  we  may  all  meet  again,  some  where, 
somehow — I  cannot  say  more  at  present.  For  I 
shall  be  happy  to  see  my  little  girl  happy  in  her 
married  love,  and  later  on  I  shall  close  my  eyes 
contentedly  when  I  can  feel  assured  that  nothing 
from  the  past  will  ever  emerge  to  spoil  her  life 
or  bring  to  her  distress  of  mind." 

Tia  Teresa,  too,  had  arisen. 

"God  grant  it  may  be  so,"  she  fervently  ex 
claimed.  "But  somehow  my  mind  misgives  me. 
Today  I  am  softened  as  I  have  never  been  before. 
Even  for  the  sake  of  our  dear  Rosetta  in  Heaven 
I  feel  inclined  to  plead  with  you  to  let  Thurston 
go  his  way  and  the  vendetta  be  forgotten."  And 
she  clung  to  his  arm  imploringly. 

"Never!"  cried  Don  Manuel,  putting  her 
gently  but  resolutely  aside.  "That  can  never  be, 
Tia  Teresa.  You  know  it.  A  vow  sworn  over  my 
wronged  and  murdered  sister's  grave,  over  the 
graves  of  my  parents  as  well,  must  be  fulfilled. 
To  break  it  at  the  very  moment  when  it  is  in  my 
power  to  give  it  fulfillment  would  be  the  act  of  a 
coward — a  sacrilege  that  could  never  be  atoned. 


FOREBODINGS  307 

No  more  words  like  that.    I  must  not  even  listen." 

She  was  sobbing  as  she  dropped  back  into  her 
chair.  Her  silence  was  the  confession  that  she 
was  powerless  to  argue  against  the  unwritten 
law  of  the  vendetta. 

"So  I  kiss  you  good-bye  for  the  present,  Tia 
Teresa."  He  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  and, 
stooping,  saluted  her  first  on  one  cheek,  then  on 
the  other.  "Be  your  old  brave  and  resolute  self 
again.  Where  shall  I  find  Mrs.  Darlington?" 

"Alone  in  her  boudoir.  This  is  her  day  for 
correspondence,"  replied  the  duenna,  resolutely 
striving  to  repress  her  tears. 

"Then  I'll  leave  you  here.  Let  your  best 
wishes  go  with  me." 

Almost  lightly  he  touched  her  hand  and  was 
gone,  disappearing  among  the  roses. 

Tia  Teresa  bowed  her  head  across  her  folded 
arms.  She  was  thinking  not  of  the  past  now,  but 
solely  of  the  future. 

"How  would  it  all  end?" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
Old  Friends 

'"¥"  AM  glad  to  find  you  alone,"  spoke  Mr. 
Robles,  as  he  advanced  into  the  subdued 
light  of  Mrs.  Darlington's  boudoir. 

She  was  seated  at  her  escritoire.  Around  her 
were  letters  lying  open  for  answer,  others  sealed 
and  ready  for  the  mail,  also  sundry  books  of 
account  which  indicated  that  the  chatelaine  of 
La  Siesta  was  a  business  woman  who  paid  atten 
tion  to  the  running  of  her  household  and  the 
management  of  her  estate. 

"Always  so  pleased  to  see  you,"  she  replied,  as 
she  rose  to  give  her  visitor  welcome. 

"Pray,  keep  your  seat,  Mrs.  Darlington.  You 
form  an  attractive  picture — the  lady  who  is  not 
too  much  of  a  lady  to  neglect  her  correspondence 
and  her  business  affairs.  And  it  is  about  some 
business  matters  that  I  have  come  to  talk  with 
you  this  evening." 

She  smiled  pleasedly  over  the  compliment  paid 
in  the  old-fashioned  courtly  style  of  the  true 
Spanish  grandee.  She  herself  always  suggested 

(308) 


OLD  FRIENDS  309 

the  old-time,  old-world  lady  of  fashion — one 
belonging  to  the  old  lace  and  sweet  lavender  era 
that  has  so  nearly  passed  away. 

"Business  matters?"  echoed  Mrs.  Darlington. 
"That  sounds  quite  serious.  We  have  had  no 
cause  to  talk  business  for  years  and  years.  La 
Siesta  has  certainly  justified  its  name." 

"But  even  the  most  pleasant  siesta  must  in 
time  come  to  an  end,"  he  replied  with  a  grave 
smile.  "There  are  things  in  this  world  that  must 
be  accomplished — calls  of  duty  that  interfere 
sadly  with  continuous  repose.  I  am  leaving  tonight 
on  a  journey — perhaps  a  long  journey,"  he  added 
slowly  and  thoughtfully. 

"Oh,  going  abroad?  The  wanderlust  again? 
That's  too  bad.  We  shall  all  miss  you  so  much." 
She  spoke  the  words  with  real  concern  in  her  tone 
and  in  her  eyes. 

"Not  exactly  the  wanderlust,"  he  responded. 
"But  there  is  a  certain  task  I  must  perform.  And 
it  takes  me  away — far  away  from  your  delightful 
La  Siesta." 

"And  for  a  long  time?" 

"That  will  be  decided  by  events.  I  shall  write 
you  a  long  letter  when  once  I  am  on  the  ocean. 
Meanwhile  there  are  certain  documents  I  wish 
to  leave  in  your  charge,  my  good  kind  friend." 


310       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

He  drew  the  packet  from  the  breast  pocket  of  his 
coat.  "They  are  important  papers,  and  I  wish 
them  to  be  locked  in  your  safe." 

"Under  seal,  I  see,"  she  remarked,  indicating 
the  big  circle  of  wax  that  closed  the  cover. 

"Yes,  sealed  with  my  signet,"  he  answered, 
touching  the  ring  on  his  finger.  "But  all  the  same 
I  wish  you  to  know  the  nature  of  their  contents. 
That  is  why  I  have  sought  this  little  private  talk." 

Silently  she  settled  herself  to  listen,  and  he 
went  on: 

"You  are  aware  that  many  years  ago  I  sold  out 
all  my  interests  in  Spain — lands  and  flocks  and 
mines.  Well,  except  for  the  money  I  used  in 
building  and  furnishing  my  home,  I  invested  the 
whole  amount  so  realized  in  British  Government 
bonds.  But  not  in  my  own  name.  They  stand  in 
the  names  of  Merle  Farnsworth  and  Grace 
Darlington." 

Mrs.  Darlington  showed  some  surprise. 

"Merle,  of  course.  But  why  Grace,  Mr.  Robles? 
I  need  not  tell  you  that  she  is  already  well  pro 
vided  for." 

"That  I  fully  understand.  But  I  preferred  it  so. 
To  me  both  children  were  very  dear,  and  have 
always  continued  to  be  very  dear.  There  was 
more  than  a  sufficiency  to  divide.  I  wished  them 


OLD  FRIENDS  »  311 

to  share  my  patrimony,  even  though  the  one 
might  have  a  greater  claim  on  me  than  the  other. 
But  it  was  precisely,  to  guard  against  such  a 
thought  occurring  to  the  mind  of  any  outsider 
that  I  have  treated  Merle  and  Grace  exactly 
alike.  The  secret  that  Merle  is  my  daughter  is 
known  only  to  you  and  Tia  Teresa  and  me,  and, 
as  I  have  always  wished,  it  must  be  kept  from 
Merle  herself  and  from  all  others — now,  more  than 
ever,"  he  added  after  a  little  pause. 

"I  have  never  sought  to  pry  into  this  mystery," 
replied  Mrs.  Darlington.  "You  had  valid  reasons 
for  it,  I  well  understood.  But  I  was  glad  for  the 
wee  baby's  sake  to  take  her  to  my  heart — the 
child  of  the  dearest  friend  of  my  girlhood  days. 
And  it  was  nice,  too,  for  her  to  have  her  mother's 
maiden  name — Merle  Farnsworth.  So,  from  the 
very  first,  I  loved  her  just  as  much  as  my  own 
baby,  Grace." 

"That  I  know,"  said  Robles,  gratefully  touch 
ing  her  hand.  "I  can  never  adequately  thank  you 
for  the  mother  love  you  have  so  generously 
bestowed  on  my  child.  And  I  have  always  been 
grateful,  too,  for  the  chivalrous  manner  in  which 
you  have  never  sought  to  have  me  explain  my 
actions  in  this  matter — my  virtual  separation 
from  the  daughter  whom,  while  hiding  our 


312       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

relationship,  I  have  loved  all  through  her  young 
life  with  passionate  devotion." 

Mr.  Robles  was  deeply  moved.  He  bowed  his 
head  and  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  In 
sympathy,  Mrs.  Darlington  also  was  greatly 
affected. 

"You  have  been  the  best  of  fathers  to  Merle," 
she  said  in  a  trembling  voice,  "even  though  Merle 
little  dreams  of  what  she  really  means  to  your  life. 
But  oh,  Mr.  Robles,  how  often  have  I  not  pitied 
you  when  I  have  seen  you  restraining  in  her 
presence  the  natural  impulses  of  your  heart!" 

"It  was  my  duty,"  he  replied,  regaining  his 
composure  by  stern  self-command  and  sitting 
erect  again.  "My  bounden  duty  to  her,"  he 
added,  resolutely.  "So,  as  you  have  so  kindly 
done  before,  we  shall  leave  that  subject  alone. 
You  call  it  a  mystery.  Be  it  so.  Just  let  it  abide 
a  mystery  to  the  end.  Now,  Mrs.  Darlington," 
he  went  on  in  a  changed  tone,  "please  lock  up  these 
papers.  If  I  ever  want  them  again  I  shall  come  to 
you.  But  if  anything  should  happen  to  me,  the 
seal  is  to  be  broken.  You  are  my  trustee.  But 
there  is  no  troublesome  will  to  prove  and  execute. 
As  I  have  already  indicated,  all  the  property  I 
die  possessed  of,  all  the  property  that  is  inalienably 
and  rightfully  mine,  including  my  home  on  the  hill 


OLD  FRIENDS  313 

— everything  is  already  apportioned  between 
Merle  and  Grace,  and  stands  in  their  names  by  a 
deed  that  dates  back  almost  to  their  days  of 
infancy." 

"It  is  unheard-of  generosity,"  protested  Mrs. 
Darlington.  "I  mean  so  far  as  Grace  is  concerned." 

"Not  another  word,  I  beg  of  you.  I  have 
already  given  valid  reasons  besides  those  of 
affection  and  gratitude.  Now,  Mrs.  Darlington, 
let  me  see  you  lock  up  these  documents,  and  my 
mind  will  be  at  rest." 

Without  further  speech  she  took  the  packet  of 
papers  from  his  hand,  crossed  the  room,  and, 
standing  before  a  safe  inset  into  the  wall  and 
already  open,  deposited  the  papers  in  a  little 
drawer.  Then  she  swung  back  the  safe  door,  and 
the  click  of  the  combination  as  she  turned  the  knob 
told  that  her  visitor's  wishes  had  been  fully  com 
plied  with.  Slowly  she  returned  to  her  seat  at  the 
desk. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Robles,  pressing  her 
hand. 

"Then  I  am  not  to  ask  why  you  are  leaving  us 
tonight?"  enquired  Mrs.  Darlington. 

"Please  not.  I  just  came  to  you,  as  I  have  many 
times  done  before,  to  speak  the  little  word — Adios. 
And  it  has  always  been  spoken  brightly  between 


314       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

us,  my  dear  friend.  For  have  I  not  returned  again 
and  again  like  the  proverbial  bad  penny?"  he 
continued  with  a  smile. 

"And  so  it  will  be  yet  again,  I  hope,"  she  replied. 
"Bad  pennies  of  your  kind,  Mr.  Robles,  are  better 
than  minted  gold.  And  you  must  think  of  the 
young  people.  Engagements  should  not  be  too 
long.  Everything  is  settled  so  far  as  Dick  and 
Merle  are  concerned — with  your  full  approval?" 

"With  my  fullest  approval,  and  to  my  great  joy 
and  peace  of  mind." 

"Well,  and  you  know,  too,  that  it  is  just  the 
same  old  story  as  regards  Chester  Munson  and 
my  little  girl." 

"Munson  has  so  informed  me.  He  wanted 
my  congratulations  on  his  good  fortune.  Chester 
Munson  is  certainly  a  fine  fellow,  and  Grace 
could  have  made  no  better  choice  for  the  bestowal 
of  her  love.  Again  I  am  filled  with  happiness  at 
the  turn  events  have  taken." 

"But  if  there  are  to  be  wedding  bells  for  four, 
their  peal  will  not  be  so  joyous  if  you  are  absent, 
my  dear  Mr.  Robles." 

"I  shall  try  to  be  present,"  he  replied,  with  a 
little  wistful  smile.  "Who  knows?  Wouldn't  it 
be  fine  if  the  wedding  bells  were  to  ring  in  Spain?" 

"No,  no,  my  friend.     You  forget  that  all  four  are 


OLD  FRIENDS  315 

young  Americans.  The  honeymoons  in  Spain,  if 
you  like.  But  the  weddings  in  California,  please." 

"So  be  it,"  he  answered.  "Then  if  I  cannot  get 
back  for  the  wedding  bells,  we  may  have  a  family 
reunion  during  the  honeymoons."  He  laughed 
almost  gaily  as  he  rose.  "Now,  where  are  our 
young  Americans?  I  wish  to  say  good-bye  to 
them,  too." 

"Where  Dick  Willoughby  is,  I  cannot  say.  But 
he  is  safe — you  still  assure  me  of  his  safety,  Mr. 
Robles?" 

"Assuredly.  And  I  have  good  news  for  our 
dear  Merle.  Tomorrow  Willoughby  will  be  free, 
with  every  suspicion  removed  from  his  name." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  glad  tidings  indeed  for  Merle — 
for  both  the  girls." 

"Then  let  us  take  the  news  to  them.  Where 
shall  we  find  them?" 

"As  usual,  I  fancy,  in  their  favorite  cosy  corner. 
And  Mr.  Munson  is  here,  too.  He  is  to  have 
luncheon  with  us.  He  said  you  had  given  him  a 
day  off  from  his  onerous  library  duties." 

"Quite  correct.  I  told  him  I  would  meet  him 
here,  for  I  have  a  message  for  him  as  well.  Come 
then,  let  us  join  the  young  people." 

Again,  like  the  courtly  hidalgo,  he  presented  a 
hand  to  his  hostess  and  led  her  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
Heart  Searchings 

AS  Mrs.  Darlington  had  anticipated,  the  trio 

/~\    of   young   Americans   were  discovered   in 

the  cosy  corner.    Grace  and  Munson  were 

engaged  in  a  tete-a-tete  that  was  obviously  very 

delightful  to  themselves,  while  Merle  at  a  discreet 

distance  was  busily  engaged  in  watering  the  pot 

plants  and  flowers.    She  was  the  first  to  sound  a 

note  of  warning. 

"Here  comes  mother,  and  Mr.  Robles,  also,  I 
do  declare." 

The  young  lovers  started  a  little  apart,  and 
Grace  in  a  moment  was  demurely  busy  over  a  bit 
of  sewing  that  had  been  resting  undisturbed  in 
her  lap  during  the  previous  hah*  hour. 

Merle  advanced  toward  Mr.  Robles. 

"This  is  delightful,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she 
warmly  shook  hands.  "You  will  stay  to  luncheon, 
of  course." 

"No,  my  dear.  This  is  to  be  only  a  brief  visit, 
I  am  sorry  to  say." 

Grace  had  also  come  forward,  and  he  saluted 

(316) 


HEART  SEARCHINGS  317 

her  in  his  usual  quiet,  kindly  manner.  But  for 
Munson  he  had  a  word  of  sly  banter. 

"Better  than  drilling  a  squad  or  cataloguing 
musty  old  books,"  he  remarked,  bestowing  a 
significant  side  glance  in  Grace's  direction. 

"Infinitely  better,"  replied  the  ex-soldier  and 
amateur  librarian,  with  frank  and  unabashed 
satisfaction. 

Mr.  Robles  took  a  seat  close  to  Merle. 

"I  came  to  bring  you  two  pieces  of  news," 
he  said,  taking  her  hand,  yet  addressing  his 
words  to  all  the  company.  "First  and  fore 
most,  by  tomorrow  the  charge  against  Dick 
Willoughby  will  be  withdrawn,  and  he  will  be  a 
free  man." 

"Oh,  that  is  good  news  indeed,"  cried  Merle, 
fairly  hugging  its  bearer. 

"Then  they  have  at  last  discovered  the  mur 
derer  of  young  Thurston?"  enquired  Munson  in  a 
tone  of  eager  satisfaction. 

"Yes,  or  rather  he  has  discovered  himself,  I 
believe.  Oh,  you  need  not  ask  me  for  the  name. 
It  will  only  be  made  public  when  Willoughby 
formally  claims  his  liberty." 

"I  am  so  thankful,"  murmured  Grace.  "But 
of  course  Dick's  complete  exoneration  was  bound 
to  come." 


318       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"And  I  am  the  bearer  of  a  special  message  to 
you,  Mr.  Munson.  I  have  not  read  it.  But  it 
was  given  to  me  as  the  one  most  likely  to  get  it 
promptly  into  your  hands." 

Speaking  thus,  he  passed  over  to  Munson  the 
hasty  scrawl  that  Dick  had  written  in  the  cavern 
and  entrusted  to  Pierre  Luzon  for  delivery. 

Munson  ripped  open  the  envelope,  first  scanned 
the  contents,  then  read  aloud: 

"On  Tuesday  night  next,  about  six  o'clock,  meet  me  at 
Buck  Ashley's  old  store.  I  shall  want  you  to  ride  over  to 
Bakersfield  with  me  next  morning,  where  my  acquittal  is 
assured.  Give  Merle  the  glad  news.  Yours,  DICK." 

"That  I  have  already  been  privileged  to  do," 
said  Mr.  Robles,  as  he  smiled  down  on  the  young 
girl  by  his  side.  Their  eyes  met,  and  a  look  of 
grave  earnestness  came  into  Merle's. 

"And  the  second  item  of  news,  Mr.  Robles?" 
she  asked,  hi  a  low  tone.  "I  hope  it  is  also  glad 
some  tidings." 

"Oh,  it  is  of  comparative  unimportance,"  he 
answered.  "Simply  that  I  am  going  away  on  a 
long  journey,  and  may  not  see  all  you  happy 
young  people  again  for  quite  awhile." 

Merle's  face  fell.  "I  am  so  sorry,"  she  mur 
mured,  a  note  of  real  feeling  in  the  softly-spoken 
words. 


HEART  SEARCHINGS  319 

"As  you  grow  older  you  will  realize  that  the 
world  is  full  of  partings,  Merle,"  he  answered. 

"But  why  should  there  be  partings  among  us?" 
she  protested.  "Now  that  Dick  is  free,  there  is 
not  a  shadow  on  all  our  happiness.  And  we  do 
so  wish  you  to  share  it,  Mr.  Robles.  It  will  not 
be  just  the  same  if  you  are  gone." 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  think  like  that." 

"That's  just  how  we  all  think,"  interjected  Grace. 

"But  when  duty  calls,  one  must  needs  answer," 
replied  Robles.  "Right  there  is  an  end  to  all 
argument." 

"And  where  are  you  going  this  time,  Mr. 
Robles?"  enquired  Merle. 

"On  a  long  journey — as  far  as  Europe,  I  hope. 
But  my  plans  are  not  quite  certain,  except  that 
I  start  tonight.  However,  I  shall  be  in  corre 
spondence  with  Mrs.  Darlington,  and  I  trust  that 
when  you  young  people  come  to  make  that  con 
templated  foreign  tour,  your  footsteps  will  be 
turned  in  my  direction.  Meanwhile  you  have,  all 
of  you,  as  you  already  know,  my  warmest  con 
gratulations  and  heartiest  good  wishes." 

As  he  spoke,  Mr.  Robles  rose.  His  manner 
indicated  that  he  wished  no  further  questioning. 
After  a  comprehensive  glance  around,  he  advanced, 
first  of  all,  to  Munson  and  extended  his  hand. 


320       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Mr.  Munson,  you  will  receive  a  letter  tomorrow 
that  contains  an  offer  for  you  to  continue  your 
work  in  my  library,  which  I  hope  will  prove 
acceptable,  at  least  for  the  present.  Grace,  my 
dear,  I  take  the  liberty  of  an  old  friend."  And  he 
kissed  her  brow.  "With  your  mother  I  already 
have  had  a  good  long  talk,"  he  continued,  as  he 
pressed  Mrs.  Darlington's  hand  and  looked  into 
her  eyes.  "And  now,  Merle,  dear,  I  am  going  to 
ask  you  to  gather  me  some  roses  in  your  garden. 
I  want  them  for  a  particular  purpose,  and,  as 
you  know,  there  are  no  roses  like  those  of  La 
Siesta." 

Merle  was  standing  eager  and  happy  to  do  his 
bidding — privileged  to  have  the  chance  of  confer 
ring  such  a  little  service  on  her  dear  old  friend,  her 
friend  from  the  earliest  childhood  days  of  her 
remembrance.  With  impulsive  good-nature,  Grace 
was  ready  to  help  as  well.  But  a  quiet  look  from 
her  mother  restrained  her,  and  Merle  and  Mr. 
Robles  passed  from  the  verandah,  hand  in  hand. 

For  nearly  an  hour  they  wandered  among  the 
rose  bushes,  picking  the  choicest  blooms,  talking 
a/little  on  many  things,  silent  at  tunes,  but  both 
happy  in  each  other's  companionship.  At  last 
Mr.  Robles  looked  at  his  watch.  The  hour  of 
parting  had  come. 


HEART  SEARCHINGS  321 

Merle  had  deftly  tied  the  roses  in  a  bunch,  and 
now  she  placed  them  in  his  hands. 

"A  bouquet  from  me — from  your  little  friend 
Merle,"  she  murmured,  with  a  wistful  attempt 
at  a  smile. 

"From  my  dear  little  friend,  Merle,"  he  replied, 
gravely  repeating  her  words  as  he  looked  down 
into  her  upraised  face.  It  was  a  beautiful  face, 
in  its  fresh  youthfulness,  its  eager  joy  of  living, 
the  sublime  unconsciousness  of  self  that  reveals 
the  spotless  soul.  For  an  instant  their  eyes  met. 

During  that  brief  spell  Robles'  whole  being 
trembled.  His  arms  moved  as  if  to  enfold  the 
sweet  girl  to  his  breast.  But  with  a  mighty  effort 
he  controlled  himself,  and  he  simply  kissed  her  on 
the  brow,  just  as  he  had  done  to  Grace  in  the 
cosy  corner. 

"God  bless  you,  Merle,  my  dear,"  he  murmured 
as  he  turned  away  with  a  final  wave  of  his  hand. 

In  a  moment  he  was  gone  from  her  view.  But 
the  girl's  gaze  remained  fixed — still  directed  down 
the  avenue  of  trees  along  which  the  figure  of  her 
life-long  friend  had  disappeared.  There  was  a 
look  of  dazed  wonderment  in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  can  it  be  so — could  it  be  so?"  she  faltered, 
as  she  raised  a  hand  to  hold  back  the  tears. 

An  hour  later  Robles  was  in  the  little  Mexican 


322       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

churchyard,  scattering  the  rose  blooms  gathered 
by  his  daughter  Merle  on  the  graves  of  the  dead 
relatives  whose  names  she  would  never  know  as 
such.  Already  there  were  the  flowers  that  Tia 
Teresa  had  that  morning  brought — a  garland  of 
white  arum  lilies  around  the  cross  that  marked 
the  sleeping  place  of  Rosetta,  wreaths  of  rich 
red  carnations  on  the  tombstone  inscribed  with 
the  father's  and  the  mother's  names. 

And  now  on  the  turf  beneath  the  memorials 
Don  Manuel,  with  lingering  fingers,  dropped  the 
roses  here  and  there,  as  if  to  rest  with  their  beauty 
and  their  fragrance  on  the  forms  of  his  beloved 
dead.  The  last  bloom  fluttered  to  the  ground. 
Then,  standing  erect,  hands  upraised,  no  words 
uttered,  but  with  the  unspoken  words  none  the 
less  reverberating  through  his  very  soul,  he  vowed 
once  again  the  vendetta  which  he  had  sworn  on 
the  identical  spot  thirty  long  years  before. 

When  he  turned  to  leave  the  tiny  hamlet  of  the 
dead,  a  wonderful  transformation  had  come  over 
his  countenance.  The  placid  calm  was  gone; 
the  fierce  fire  of  implacable  hatred  and  unswerv- 
able  resolve  burned  in  his  eyes.  He  had  bidden 
adieu  to  all  the  softer  things  in  this  life.  His  sole 
concern  now  was  with  the  enemy  whom  he  had 
marked  down  for  death  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
At  Comanche  Point 

BEN  THURSTON,  during  the  afternoon, 
seated  in  his  big  armchair,  had  first  nodded 
over  a  newspaper  and  then  dropped  off 
to  sleep.  He  was  awakened  by  a  touch  on 
the  shoulder — rudely  awakened,  for  he  jumped 
to  his  feet,  and  in  a  dazed  way  glared  at  the 
disturber. 

"Excuse  me,"  apologized  Leach  Sharkey,  "but 
I  want  to  remind  you  that  this  is  the  afternoon 
when  we  are  to  meet  that  old  Portugee  I  told  you 
about." 

"I  need  no  reminder,"  was  the  gruff  reply. 
"I  am  ready  to  start  when  you  are.  By  the  way, 
what's  the  fellow's  name?" 

"Jose,  he  said.  He  claims  to  know  every  nook 
and  corner  in  the  range.  Has  lived  in  the  moun 
tains  for  many  years;  keeps  goats  and  bees,  and 
shoots  a  mountain  lion  occasionally,  earning  the 
bounty  as  well  as  getting  the  skin." 

"Shoots,"  echoed  Thurston,  somewhat  ner 
vously. 

(323) 


324       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Oh,  that  was  in  his  younger  days  mostly,  I 
fancy.  Today  he  is  a  tottering  old  man  who 
couldn't  hold  a  rifle  straight  if  he  tried.  But  he's 
well  acquainted  with  the  mountains,  that's  the 
main  thing.  He  tells  me  he  has  known  where 
Dick  Willoughby  is  hiding  since  the  very  day 
after  he  broke  jail." 

"Then  why  didn't  he  come  to  me?" 

"Because  he  knew  nothing  about  the  reward. 
But  at  our  very  first  chance  meeting  among  the 
hills  I  very  soon  made  five  thousand  dollars  look 
mighty  good  to  him.  By  gad,  you  should  have 
seen  his  eyes  pop  and  his  hands  tremble." 

"It  is  a  fortune  for  such  a  man." 

"That's  what  got  him.  He  has  been  supplying 
Willoughby  with  goats'  milk,  but  is  paid  only  two 
bits  a  quart.  So  he  grabbed  at  my  bait  like  a 
hungry  coyote.  You  have  the  money  ready,  I 
suppose?  Treasury  bills — that's  what  he  stipu 
lated  for,  because  he's  too  frail  to  hump  a  sack 
of  gold  around." 

"The  money  is  in  that  wallet  on  my  desk.  You 
had  better  carry  it." 

Sharkey  stepped  across  the  room  and  shoved  a 
fat  leather  wallet  into  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat. 

"So  frail,  is  he?"  Thurston  went  on,  musingly. 
"Well,  I  needn't  take  a  gun." 


AT  COMANCHE  POINT  325 

Sharkey  smiled.  He  knew  Ben  Thurs ton's 
timidity  in  even  handling  a  revolver,  and  the 
man's  abject  reliance  on  his  armed  bodyguard. 

"Not  the  slightest  necessity,"  assented  the 
sleuth.  "IVe  always  got  my  brace  of  bulldogs 
ready;"  and  the  professional  gunman,  touching 
the  broad  leather  belt  to  which  his  holsters  were 
attached,  grinned  complacently. 

"And  no  danger  to  be  feared  from  Willoughby 
himself,  you  said?" 

"None  whatever.  In  fact,  he  don't  have  a  gun, 
Jose  declares.  So  he  only  sneaks  out  after  dark 
for  a  constitutional.  The  old  fellow  will  take  us 
to  the  spot  where  we  can  grab  him  by  the  neck." 

"That  sounds  like  business,"  replied  Thurston, 
rubbing  his  hands.  "And  shoot  him  down, 
Sharkey,  if  he  runs." 

"He  won't  give  us  the  slip  this  time — you  can 
bet  dollars  to  doughnuts  on  that.  But  of  course 
he's  got  to  have  the  chance  of  hands-up  before 
I  fire.  Killing  is  killing,  and  I  prefer  the  hand 
cuffs.  There  is  really  less  trouble  in  the  long  run." 

"Well,  perhaps  I,  too,  would  prefer  to  see  him 
hanged,"  murmured  Thurston,  with  gloating 
satisfaction.  "But  don't  forget  that  we  must 
get  him  this  afternoon,  dead  or  alive.  I'm  sick 
of  this  life  of  watching  and  waiting." 


326       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"The  end's  in  sight  at  last." 

"Then  we'll  go  back  East — after  I  have  had  my 
revenge.  It  will  be  sweeter  to  me  after  all  the 
trouble  we've  encountered.  And  by  God,  we'll 
drag  that  Farnsworth  girl,  too,  through  the  mire. 
Hell  to  all  of  them!  I've  never  had  anyone  but 
enemies  around  me  here." 

While  speaking,  Thurston  reached  for  his  over 
coat  thrown  across  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"All  right,  we'll  start,"  said  Sharkey.  "I'll 
go  and  get  the  horses  ready." 

It  was  about  hah*  past  three  o'clock  when  the 
riders  reached  the  base  of  the  mountain  barrier 
not  far  from  the  entrance  to  Tejon  Pass. 

"We've  got  to  make  it  on  foot  now,"  remarked 
Sharkey,  as  he  swung  himself  from  the  saddle. 
"I'll  tether  the  horses  to  this  manzanita." 

Thurston  dismounted,  and  while  his  companion 
led  the  animals  under  the  trees,  he  gazed  aloft 
at  the  precipice  beetling  in  front  of  them. 

"Damn  it,  I  wish  you  had  chosen  any  other  place 
than  Comanche  Point,"  he  exclaimed  irritably. 

"We  had  to  come  to  the  spot  where  we  can  find 
our  man,"  replied  Sharkey  complacently.  "It 
is  on  the  ridge  above  that  Willoughby  has  his 
place  of  hiding.  Come  along,  we  have  a  good 
stiff  climb  before  us." 


AT  COMANCHE  POINT  327 

He  led  the  way  up  the  first  slope  of  the  winding 
trail  and  Ben  Thurston  followed,  reluctantly  now, 
hah*  doubting  the  wisdom  of  his  having  left  his 
home  for  such  an  adventure. 

Meanwhile  there  had  been  two  other  riders 
on  the  range  that  afternoon,  mounted  on  little 
hill  ponies.  The  one  man  was  blindfolded;  the 
other  rode  in  advance  and  guided  the  second  pony 
by  a  leading  rein.  It  had  been  the  usual  experi 
ence  to  which  Dick  Willoughby  had  now  become 
accustomed — hour  after  hour  along  winding, 
maze-like  trails.  At  last  the  call  had  come  to 
dismount,  and  the  bandage  had  been  removed 
from  Dick's  eyes.  He  saw  that  he  was  in  a  little 
box-like  nook  in  the  mountains. 

"You  will  remain  here,"  said  Pierre  Luzon, 
"until  I  whistle  for  you — you  know  my  signal. 
Zen  you  will  lead  ze  ponies  along  zis  path.  When 
you  come  to  me,  I  will  put  you  on  ze  road  for 
home,  and  we  will  say  good-bye." 

"I  suppose  I  may  smoke,"  laughed  Dick,  philo 
sophically.  The  day  of  surprises  had  left  him 
dulled  to  any  further  wonderment. 

"Sure,  smoke,"  replied  Pierre.  "But  remember 
ze  forest  regulations,"  he  added  with  a  chuckle, 
"and  do  not  set  ze  brush  on  fire." 

"Oh,     I'm     no     green     tenderfoot,"     laughed 


328       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Willoughby,  as  he  drew  his  briar-root  from  his 
pocket.  "And  it's  quite  a  balmy  afternoon  for 
October." 

He  sat  down  and  propped  his  back  against  a 
moss-grown  rock. 

"You  must  not  stir  from  here,"  continued 
Pierre.  "Remember  I  have  to  find  you  again." 

"Guess  I've  learned  to  obey  orders.  I'm  quite 
comfortable  where  I  am."  And  Dick  started 
contentedly  smoking. 

Pierre,  following  the  little  path  to  which  he  had 
drawn  Dick's  attention,  pushed  through  the 
brushwood  and  disappeared. 

Just  ten  minutes  later  Pierre  Luzon  stood  on 
Comanche  Point  and  gazed  down  the  trail  leading 
up  from  the  pass  below. 

"Zey  are  coming,  zey  are  coming!"  he  exclaimed 
eagerly  to  himself,  with  finger  outpointed  in  the 
direction  of  the  two  climbers  on  foot  half  way  up  the 
ascent.  Then  he  slipped  back  into  the  shadow  of  a 
clump  of  stunted  pines  that  grew  close  to  the  cliff. 

Fifteen  minutes  or  so  passed.  Then  the  heads 
of  Ben  Thurston  and  Leach  Sharkey  showed 
above  the  final  steep  ascent  that  led  directly  on 
to  the  projecting  spur  known  as  Comanche  Point. 
Thurston  was  breathing  hard  after  the  difficult 
climb. 


AT  COMANCHE  POINT  329 

"Here  we  are  at  last,"  remarked  Sharkey 
cheerfully,  as  he  glanced  around. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  a  tottering  figure  came  forth 
from  among  the  pines.  A  few  minutes  before, 
Pierre  Luzon  had  been  erect  and  vigorous  and 
nimble  on  his  feet,  but  now  he  seemed  to  be  indeed 
a  frail  and  bowed  old  man. 

"I  have  come,"  he  said,  as  he  approached  the 
figures  on  the  cliff. 

"Hands  up,  then,"  cried  the  sleuth,  half  laugh 
ing.  "You  remember,  I  said  I  would  search  you 
for  a  gun." 

"I  have  no  gun,"  Pierre  answered,  as  he  halted 
and  elevated  his  arms. 

Sharkey  advanced  and,  without  taking  the 
trouble  to  draw  either  of  his  own  weapons,  ran 
his  fingers  with  the  quick  touch  of  experience 
over  the  old  man's  clothes. 

"I  knew  you  were  on  the  square,  Jos6,"  said 
the  bodyguard,  quickly  satisfied.  "Well,  I've 
brought  the  mazuma." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  fat  wallet,  opening 
it  for  a  moment  to  display  the  wads  of  greenbacks. 
Then  he  put  it  back  again. 

"Now  where  is  our  man?" 

"He  is  down  here,  just  a  little  distance,"  replied 
Pierre,  in  a  cautious  whisper.  "I  am  not  strong 


330      A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

enough  to  hold  him.  But  you  come.  Ze  boss, 
he 'can  remain  here  for  ze  present." 

Ben  Thurston  had  turned  away  and  was  looking 
down  into  the  valley. 

"We'll  be  back  in  a  short  time,"  called  out 
Sharkey. 

But  Thurston,  if  he  had  heard,  made  no 
reply. 

"Now  show  the  way,  old  fellow,"  continued 
the  sleuth,  addressing  his  guide. 

A  moment  later  Ben  Thurston  was  alone. 

Alone  on  Comanche  Point — gazing  over  the 
broad  sweep  of  lands  that  had  been  his  princely 
heritage,  but  which  he  had  now  lost  forever!  The 
valley  lay  beneath  him,  bathed  in  the  mellow 
evening  sunshine.  But  his  eyes  were  riveted  on  a 
single  spot.  And  what  a  transformation  scene 
for  the  erstwhile  cattle  king — this  new  city  with 
its  checkerboard  of  streets  and  all  around  it  new 
homes  amid  plots  of  young  fruit  trees  and  meadows 
of  alfalfa! 

The  whole  picture  was  one  of  fascinating 
beauty — the  city  itself  the  finishing  touch  that 
gave  it  human  interest.  But  in  Ben  Thurston 's 
soul  there  was  nothing  but  bitterness  and  disgust. 
He  had  kept  on  complaining  that  he  had  been 
unscrupulously  plundered  by  the  Los  Angeles 


AT  COMANCHE  POINT  331 

syndicate,  and  with  the  realization  now  of  what 
enterprise  and  enlightened  progress  could  achieve, 
he  began  to  feel  that  he  had  been  mercilessly 
stripped  of  what  was  rightfully  his.  Greed  and 
envy  and  vain  regrets  were  all  commingled  in 
his  surge  of  envenomed  thoughts.  But  avarice 
predominated. 

"Good  God,  to  think  I  parted  with  the  rancho 
at  a  beggarly  acreage  price,  when  I  might  have 
been  selling  town  lots  today.  There  will  be  a 
dozen  other  towns  springing  up  to  follow  this 
one." 

In  his  agony  he  groaned  aloud  and  covered 
his  eyes  with  his  hands  to  shut  out  the  hateful 
sight. 

Just  at  that  moment  the  sound  of  a  twig  crack 
ling  underfoot  smote  his  ear.  He  turned  round; 
into  his  face  stole  an  ashen  look  of  terror  as  he 
watched  an  approaching  figure  wrapped  in  a 
Spanish  cloak  and  crowned  by  a  broad-brimmed 
sombrero.  His  haggard  eyes  asked:  "Is  it  man 
or  ghost?"  He  would  have  screamed  aloud,  but 
found  himself  voiceless  from  fear. 

At  last  the  figure  stood  before  him  with  proudly 
folded  arms. 

"The  White  Wolf!"  gasped  Thurston,  in  a 
fauit  whisper. 


332       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Yes,  Don  Manuel  de  Valencia — the  White 
Wolf,  as  you  choose  to  call  him.  And  now  at 
last,  Ben  Thurston,  we  meet  face  to  face,  and 
alone — after  thirty  long  years,  and  without  a 
woman's  tears  this  time  to  save  you!" 

Ben  Thurston  sank  to  the  ground,  a  huddled 
heap,  trembling  in  every  limb. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
Outwitted 

PIERRE  LUZON  led  Leach  Sharkey  along 
the  trail.  Beyond  Comanche  Point  it 
dipped  again  owing  to  the  contour  of  the 
mountain,  then  at  a  distance  of  about  fifty  yards, 
took  a  sharp  turn  round  an  abrupt  face  of  rock. 

"Where  the  hell  are  you  taking  me?"  asked  the 
sleuth,  as  they  approached  this  bend. 

"Only  a  little  further,"  replied  the  guide,  in  a 
feeble  quavering  voice  as  he  glanced  over  his 
shoulder. 

The  men  were  only  a  few  paces  apart.  In  the 
shadow  cast  by  the  cliff,  Pierre's  pallid  face  with 
its  stubbly  white  beard  looked  like  that  of  a  veri 
table  ancient,  and  his  bent  form  and  tottering 
steps  completed  the  picture.  The  sleuth  smiled 
at  his  momentary  discomposure. 

Around  the  turn,  however,  Pierre  grabbed  at  a 
revolver  lying  ready  to  his  hand  on  a  ledge  of 
rock,  and  when  Sharkey  followed,  it  was  to  find  a 
hale  and  stalwart  man,  erect,  alert,  with  the  flash 
of  conscious  power  in  his  eyes. 

(333) 


334       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Hands  up!"  cried  Pierre,  in  a  voice  of  stern 
command.  Leach  Sharkey  was  standing  three 
short  steps  away  and  was  looking  now  into  the 
muzzle  of  a  big  automatic  pistol.  Over  his  coun 
tenance  there  stole  a  sickly  smile.  But  he  knew 
the  rules  of  the  game  too  well  to  attempt  any 
resistance.  His  hands  went  slowly  above  his 
head  until  both  arms  were  fully  extended. 

"You've  got  the  drop  on  me  all  right,  Jose"," 
he  murmured,  in  self-apology. 

"Face  the  rock,"  came  the  next  curt  order — 
the  very  tone  was  reminiscent  of  old  bandit  days. 

Sharkey  obeyed  in  silence,  and  in  a  trice  both 
his  guns  were  withdrawn  from  their  holsters  and 
flung  among  the  brushwood. 

"You  go  ahead  now,"  said  Pierre,  stepping 
aside  to  let  the  other  pass.  "You  can  drop  your 
hands,  but  if  you  cry  out  or  attempt  to  run,  zen 
you  are  one  dead  man." 

The  discomfited  sleuth  meekly  complied,  al 
though  there  was  now  a  black  scowl  on  his  face 
as  he  stepped  on  ahead.  In  all  his  professional 
career,  Leach  Sharkey  had  never  before  fallen  so 
ignominiously  into  a  trap  like  this. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  while  a  distance  of 
some  two  hundred  yards  was  being  traversed. 
Then  Pierre  called  out  the  one  word:    "Halt!" 


OUTWITTED  335 

Sharkey  did  not  dare  even  to  look  round.  He 
stood  still  as  a  piece  of  statuary. 

"You  sit  on  zat  stone  over  zere,"  continued 
Pierre,  "and  do  not  rise  until  I  give  you  permis 
sion.  Now  we  will  proceed  to  business." 

Sharkey  sat  down  as  ordered. 

"Hell,  you  can  have  your  five  thousand  dollars 
right  enough,"  he  said,  pulling  the  wallet  from  his 
pocket. 

"No,  my  friend.  I  did  not  bring  you  here  to 
rob  you.  I  am  out  on  parole,  and  I  never  break 
my  word.  I  am  Pierre  Luzon!"  He  spoke  the 
name  with  triumphant  pride. 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  Sharkey,  in  dum- 
founded  surprise.  "You  belonged  to  the  White 
Wolf's  gang?" 

"I  belong  now  to  ze  gang.  Ze  White  Wolf  is 
alive!" 

Leach  Sharkey  had  looked  sick  before,  but  a 
ghastly  grey  pallor  came  into  his  face  now. 

"Then  he  has  got  hold  of  Ben  Thurston — at 
last?"  he  faltered. 

"Yes,  at  last,"  replied  Pierre,  with  a  grim  smile 
of  joy.  "Don  Manuel  and  Ben  Thurston  are  alone 
on  Comanche  Point  just  now.  Zey  will  settle 
old  scores — zat  is  zeir  affair.  Now,  I  attend  to 
my  affair." 


336       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Sharkey  looked  up  enquiringly,  but  said  no 
more. 

"Leach  Sharkey,"  continued  the  old  French 
man,  "you  are  one  strong  man.  You  will  now 
take  ze  handcuffs  from  your  pocket — I  know  you 
carry  zem — and  drop  zem  over  your  shoulder. 
Zere,  zat  is  right.  I  am  glad  you  obey  wizout 
giving  me  any  further  trouble.  Now,  you  will 
hold  out  your  hands,  behind  your  back — you 
know  exactly  how." 

Yes,  Leach  Sharkey  knew  exactly  how.  And 
he  also  knew  what  the  business  end  of  a  big 
revolver  meant,  with  the  forefinger  of  a  daring 
bandit  like  Pierre  Luzon  on  the  trigger.  He  was 
handcuffed  and  helpless  right  enough  in  very 
short  order.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  man 
who  had  so  often  slipped  the  bracelets  on  others, 
found  the  bracelets  around  his  own  wrists. 

"Next  I  want  ze  key  of  ze  handcuffs,"  Pierre 
resumed.  "Which  pocket,  please?" 

Sharkey,  with  a  downward  thrust  of  his  chin, 
indicated  the  waistcoat  pocket. 

"Zank  you,"  said  Pierre,  as  he  thrust  in  his 
fingers  and  produced  the  key.  "Now,  we  will  throw 
zis  zing  away" — as  he  spoke  it  went  whizzing 
through  the  air — "and  when  you  get  home  to  ze 
rancho,  ze  blacksmith  zere  will  set  you  free." 


OUTWITTED  337 

"Oh,  I'm  going  home,  am  I?"  said  the  sleuth, 
considerably  reassured. 

"Yes,  Pierre  Luzon  no  longer  rob  or  kill  or  break 
ze  law.  He  keep  his  word  of  honor  always.  And 
I  promised  to  bring  Dick  Willoughby  to  you 
tonight.  Now  I  shall  be  true  to  zat  promise, 
too." 

And  through  his  teeth  he  blew  a  shrill  whistle. 

At  the  sound  Dick  Willoughby  started  up,  and 
shook  the  ashes  from  his  pipe.  Following  Pierre's 
instructions,  he  led  the  two  ponies  along  the  little 
trail  through  the  chaparral.  Within  five  minutes 
he  emerged  on  a  broader  trail,  right  at  the  spot 
where  the  Frenchman  was  standing. 

"Hello,  Pierre!"  Then  Dick's  eyes  fell  on 
Leach  Sharkey,  and  at  the  very  first  glance  he 
saw  the  shackled  hands.  "But  what's  the  mean 
ing  of  all  this?"  he  asked  in  bewildered  surprise. 

"It  means  zat  you  will  take  zis  man  down  ze 
mountains.  He  came  to  arrest  you,  but  you  can 
tell  him  now  zat  you  are  one  free  man.  You  can 
show  him  ze  paper  which  proves  it  was  not  you, 
but  Don  Manuel,  who  is  responsible  for  ze  death 
of  young  Thurston." 

"Great  Caesar!"  muttered  the  sleuth,  "I  thought 
that  from  the  first,  but  the  old  fool  would  not 
listen  to  me." 


338       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Mr.  Sharkey,"  said  Dick,  "you  and  I  have  no 
quarrel.  What  Pierre  says  is  true — I  have  a 
sworn  affidavit  in  my  pocket,  fixing  the  responsi 
bility  for  that  unhappy  affair  where  it  belongs." 

"I  believe  you,  Mr.  Willoughby,"  replied  the 
sleuth.  "I'm  glad  you  are  innocent,  but  I  was 
only  doing  my  duty  in  trying  to  arrest  the  man 
charged  with  the  crime." 

"I  understand  all  that.    I  bear  you  no  ill  will." 

"And  I'd  shake  hands  if  it  were  not  for  these 
damned  bracelets,"  continued  Sharkey. 

"Pierre,  there  is  no  need  of  handcuffs,"  said 
Dick,  turning  to  the  Frenchman.  "Set  him  free. 
We  will  go  peaceably  home  together." 

"No,  no,"  replied  Pierre,  determinedly.  "Leach 
Sharkey,  he  is  one  giant  in  strength.  He  will  go 
home  as  he  is.  Besides,  I  have  trown  ze  key 
away."  And  he  laughed  aloud. 

Sharkey  nodded  in  helpless  admission  of  his 
sorry  plight. 

"Too  bad,"  murmured  Dick. 

"And  now,"  continued  Pierre,  "zere  is  no  time 
to  be  lost.  We  will  help  zis  man  onto  your  pony, 
and  you  will  ride  my  pony  and  hold  ze  leading 
rein." 

"But  he  can't  ride  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back  like  that,"  objected  Dick. 


OUTWITTED  339 

"Oh,  yes,  he  can,"  grinned  Pierre.  "Ze  good 
horseman  ride  wid  his  knees,  and  most  of  ze  road 
you  can  be  by  his  side  and  hold  him  on.  And  it 
is  ze  only  way,  for  ze  key,  as  I  have  said,  is  gone." 

"I  suppose  we've  got  to  accept  the  situation," 
said  Dick,  with  a  glance  at  Sharkey's  lugubrious 
countenance.  The  man  of  strength  was  obviously 
crestfallen  at  his  almost  ridiculous  plight  of  power- 
lessness. 

Pierre  resumed  his  instructions.  "You  will 
not  go  back  to  Comanche  Point,  but  will  take  ze 
mule  trail  down  into  ze  valley.  You  know  it, 
Mr.  Willoughby — it  is  about  one  mile  furzer  on." 

"I  know  it,"  replied  Dick. 

"You  will  leave  Mr.  Sharkey  at  the  rancho  and 
zen  ride  to  ze  place  where  your  friends  are  waiting 
for  you.  Now,  zat  is  all.  I  must  go.  We  have 
already  said  our  adios,  my  dear  young  friend." 

Dick  grasped  the  proffered  hand  and  warmly 
pressed  it. 

"Good-bye,  Pierre.  I  can  never  thank  you 
enough  for  all  you  have  done  for  me.  Good-bye." 

Leach  Sharkey  was  assisted  into  the  saddle, 
and  the  horsemen  started  on  their  way. 

"Good-bye,"  shouted  back  Dick  Willoughby, 
yet  once  again. 

"Adios!" 


340       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

And  as  the  two  figures  disappeared  around  a 
bend,  the  Frenchman  uttered  a  deep  sigh.  "A 
splendid  young  fellow!  I  wonder  shall  we  ever 
meet  again!" — this  was  the  thought  in  his  mind 
as  for  just  a  moment  he  stood  in  an  attitude  of 
deep  dejection. 

Then  swinging  around,  he  started  back  at  a 
run  for  Comanche  Point. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
The  Dawn  of  Comprehension 

A,L  through  the  afternoon  at  La  Siesta, 
Merle  was  in  a  meditative  mood.  After 
luncheon  Mrs.  Darlington  had  returned  to 
her  letter-writing  and  her  book-keeping.  Munson 
and  Grace  had  departed  for  a  walk  through  the 
pine  woods,  after  vain  but  not  too  strenuous 
endeavors  to  get  Merle  to  accompany  them.  Left 
to  her  own  resources  she  had  retired  to  the  draw 
ing  room,  had  tried  to  interest  herself  at  the  piano, 
but  after  a  little  while  had  given  up  the  attempt; 
and,  coiled  in  a  big  chair,  had  surrendered  herself 
to  a  ''big  think,"  as  she  mentally  termed  it. 

In  that  momentary  searching  of  the  eyes  be 
tween  her  and  Mr.  Robles  just  before  their  parting 
in  the  rose  garden,  there  had  come  a  flash  of 
revelation  to  her  soul.  She  had  divined  a  yearning 
in  his  gaze  that  was  surely  more  than  the  affection 
of  an  old  and  devoted  friend.  There  was  passion 
ate  tenderness  that  belied  the  gentle  yet  almost 
perfunctory  kiss  on  the  brow  that  he  had  finally 
bestowed  at  parting.  Nor  had  she  failed  to  notice 

(341) 


342       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  restraint  which  the  strong  man  had  imposed 
upon  himself.  And  strangely  enough,  her  own 
momentary  impulse  had  been  to  throw  her 
arms  around  his  neck  and  kiss  him,  just  as  a  fond 
daughter  might  have  kissed  a  father  at  such  an 
emotional  moment — on  the  eve  of  a  long  journey, 
the  whither  unrevealed,  the  return  all  so  uncertain. 

She  recalled,  too,  their  previous  conversation 
while  she  was  gathering  the  roses — his  words  of 
kindly  wisdom,  his  little  bits  of  advice  that  now 
seemed  to  be  weighted  by  more  than  mere  friendly 
interest  in  her  future  happiness.  Then  her  mind 
traveled  back  slowly,  step  by  step,  all  the  way  to 
childhood  days — a  long  vista  marked  by  his 
comings  and  his  goings,  his  prolonged  absences, 
his  unexpected  but  always  welcome  reappearances, 
his  numberless  acts  of  thoughtful  kindness.  Once 
she  had  been  seriously  ill,  when  a  little  girl,  and 
the  memory  of  that  illness  had  ever  been  the 
memory  of  his  face  hovering  over  her  cot,  night 
and  day,  till  the  crisis  had  been  passed  and  she 
had  been  on  the  way  to  assured  convalescence. 

There  had  always  been  an  air  of  mystery  about 
Mr.  Robles,  but  she  had  never  sought  to  pene 
trate  it,  instinctively  recognizing  that  there  had 
been  some  great  sorrow  in  his  life,  and  almost 
unconsciously  accepting  the  affectionate  regard 


DAWN  OF  COMPREHENSION       343 

he  had  lavished  on  Grace  and  herself  as  some  sort 
of  consolation  for  him  in  his  loneliness.  She 
knew  that  Grace  was  only  her  sister  in  name,  but 
none  the  less  Grace  was  to  her  a  real  sister,  just 
as  Mrs.  Darlington  was  a  real  mother — the  only 
mother  she  had  ever  known.  Weaving  together 
now  the  threads  of  memory,  she  became  conscious 
of  the  mystery  in  her  own  life.  There  was  assur 
edly  some  fuller  story  than  the  story  she  had  been 
told  in  the  past  and  had  always  tacitly  accepted— 
that  her  parents  had  been  neighbors  and  dear 
friends  of  Mrs.  Darlington  in  the  long  ago,  and 
when  they  had  died,  the  baby  girl  left  behind  had 
been  bequeathed  to  her  motherly  care. 

At  this  stage  in  her  ruminations  Merle  sat  bolt 
upright  in  her  chair.  The  shadows  of  evening 
were  beginning  to  close  around  her,  but  the  dawn 
of  revelation  was  in  her  heart. 

Would  Mrs.  Darlington  still  be  alone  in  her 
boudoir?  Merle  answered  the  unspoken  thought 
by  stealing  from  the  room. 

Yes,  Mrs.  Darlington  was  at  her  writing  table, 
lighted  now  by  candles  on  each  side  which,  covered 
by  little  red  shades,  only  dimly  illuminated  the 
apartment.  Merle  flitted  in  without  her  coming 
being  observed. 

Mrs.   Darlington   was  no  longer  writing — her 


344       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

elbows  were  resting  on  the  table  and  both  hands 
were  covering  her  eyes  in  an  attitude  of  deep 
thought,  perhaps  of  sleep,  as  Merle  for  a  moment 
imagined  when  she  had  noiselessly  gained  her 
side. 

"Mother  dear,"  she  said  softly,  laying  a  hand 
on  her  shoulder. 

"You  here,  my  child?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dar 
lington.  There  was  no  trace  of  slumber  in  her 
eyes. 

"Yes,  and  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you — 
all  alone,"  said  Merle,  as  she  dropped  into  a  chair, 
the  very  chair  which  Mr.  Robles  had  previously 
occupied. 

The  look  of  vague  sadness  and  anxiety  in  Mrs. 
Darlington's  face  deepened. 

"What  about,  dear?"  she  asked. 

Merle's  mind  had  been  made  up,  and  she  came 
to  the  issue  with  point-blank  abruptness. 

"Is  Mr.  Robles  my  father?" 

The  startled  look  on  the  other's  face  was  almost 
in  itself  an  admission  of  the  truth — Mrs.  Dar 
lington  had  been  caught  off  her  guard.  But  she 
made  a  desperate  attempt  to  parry  the  question. 

"What  makes  you  fancy  such  a  thing?"  she 
faltered. 

"Because  there  is  certainty  in  my  heart,"  replied 


Away  on  the  Honeymoon  Trail  —  Page  387 


DAWN  OF  COMPREHENSION       345 

Merle  bravely.  "It  came  to  me  first  when  he  bade 
me  good-bye  in  the  garden.  And  now  I  see  it  in 
your  face." 

The  young  girl  dropped  on  her  knees,  and,  an 
arm  around  her  mother's  waist,  gazed  up  implor 
ingly. 

Eyes  met  eyes.  Falsehood  was  impossible  in 
either  case.  Mrs.  Darlington  stooped  and  folded 
the  kneeling  girl  in  a  fond  embrace.  Both  were 
weeping  now.  No  word  had  been  spoken,  but 
Merle  knew  that  she  had  correctly  divined. 

It  was  a  few  minutes  before  there  was  sufficient 
self-control  for  the  conversation  to  be  resumed. 
But  then,  Merle  still  kneeling  by  her  side,  Mrs. 
Darlington  spoke: 

"I  had  promised  to  keep  this  secret,  dear,"  she 
began,  fondling  the  girl's  tresses.  "But  you  have 
gained  your  knowledge  apart  from  me,  so  I  cannot 
be  held  to  have  betrayed  my  trust.  Yes,  Mr. 
Robles  is  your  father — your  loving  and  devoted 
father.  Your  real  name  is  his — Merle  Robles 
you  should  always  have  been  called." 

"And  why  not?"  asked  Merle.  "Oh,  I  am  proud 
and  overjoyed  to  think  of  him  as  my  father." 

"Because  he  has  some  important  reason  to  have 
the  world  think  otherwise.  I  know  you  will  believe 
me,  dear  Merle,  when  I  say  I  do  not  know  that 


346       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

reason.  He  is  too  grand  and  honorable  a  man  for 
me  to  have  ever  pressed  for  an  explanation.  I 
just  accepted  you  as  a  gift  from  his  hands — his 
child  and  the  child  of  my  girlhood  chum,  named 
Merle,  as  you  know,  like  yourself." 

"So,  if  I  have  solved  one  mystery,  there  is  still 
another  mystery  beyond,"  murmured  Merle. 

She  rose,  seated  herself,  and  remained  silent 
for  a  moment,  her  hands  locked  across  her  knees, 
her  brows  knit  in  thought. 

"But  why  distress  your  heart  over  unknown 
things?"  said  Mrs.  Darlington.  "As  you  have 
learned  by  your  today's  experience,  mysteries 
solve  themselves  in  due  time." 

"Yes,"  replied  Merle,  "but  somehow  I  feel  that 
this  is  the  due  time  that  I  should  know  every 
thing — for  my  dear  father's  sake,"  she  added, 
"not  for  my  own.  Oh,  mother,  you  should  have 
seen  his  face  of  anguish  just  before  he  parted  from 
me  this  afternoon.  It  was  revealed  to  me  only 
for  an  instant.  But  now  I  feel  sure  that  something 
terrible  is  going  to  happen — to  him." 

She  was  sobbing  again,  as  she  flung  her  arms 
impulsively  around  Mrs.  Darlington's  neck  and 
sat  in  her  lap,  just  as  if  once  again  she  had  become 
a  little  child. 

"Oh,  mother  mine — I   shall  always   call   you 


DAWN  OF  COMPREHENSION       347 

mother  mine,  for  you  have  been  a  dear,  sweet, 
kind  mother  to  me  ever  since  I  can  remember. 
But  don't  you  see  that  today  I  have  also  found  a 
father  whom  I  deeply  love?  Nothing  must  happen 
to  him." 

"Why  should  anything  happen  to  him?" 

"I  do  not  know.    Where  is  Tia  Teresa?" 

The  question  came  with  startling  suddenness 
as  Merle  started  up  with  another  ray  of  illumina 
tion  in  her  mind. 

"I  haven't  seen  her  since  morning,"  replied 
Mrs.  Darlington. 

"Nor  have  I,"  said  Merle,  standing  erect,  wip 
ing  away  the  traces  of  her  tears,  and  with  a 
few  pats  adjusting  her  rumpled  hair.  "That  is 
very  strange." 

"No.  I  happen  to  know  that  this  day,  the 
eleventh  of  October,  is  always  a  sad  anniversary 
for  Tia  Teresa — the  death  of  some  dear  friend 
who  lies  buried  in  the  little  Mexican  cemetery  on 
the  hill.  She  has  always  refused  to  tell  me  the 
story.  But  early  this  morning  she  went,  as  usual, 
to  place  flowers  upon  the  grave." 

"Flowers — for  a  grave!"  exclaimed  Merle.  She 
was  thinking  of  the  roses  she  had  gathered 
that  afternoon  for  Mr.  Robles — for  her  father — 
because  he  specially  wanted  the  most  beautiful 


348       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

blooms.  But  she  did  not  give  her  thought  to  Mrs. 
Darlington. 

"It  is  all  so  strange,"  continued  Merle.  Then 
her  air  of  decisiveness  returned.  "I'll  go  and  see 
if  Tia  Teresa  is  in  her  room." 

Mrs.  Darlington  was  gravely  perturbed  at  this 
persistency.  Oh,  if  only  the  mysteries  of  the  past 
could  be  left  alone,  the  joys  of  the  present  accepted 
for  themselves!  Probing  into  trouble  cannot  but 
lead  to  further  trouble — that,  for  her,  had  been 
the  secret  of  contentment.  But  she  was  powerless 
to  intervene.  Merle  had  already  departed  on  her 
mission  of  enquiry. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
Exit  Leach  Sharkey 

THE  ponies  were  jogging  down  the  trail, 
Leach  Sharkey  uncomfortably  lurching  in 
his  saddle  when  some  sudden  bend  or 
dip  was  encountered,  Dick  Willoughby  good- 
humoredly  holding  him  on  when  such  emergencies 
rendered  the  service  advisable  if  an  ignominious 
fall  were  to  be  avoided.  There  was  a  song  of  joy 
in  Dick's  heart — liberty  was  at  hand;  he  was 
riding  down  from  the  hills  to  join  his  loved  one 
again.  But  there  was  sullen  brooding  in  the.  soul 
of  the  outwitted  sleuth — growing  more  sullen 
with  every  mile  traversed,  with  every  kindness 
rendered,  with  the  very  realization  of  his  own 
ridiculous  predicament  and  the  contrast  of  his 
companion's  light-hearted  happiness. 

At  last  they  reached  the  foot  of  the  trail,  leading 
on  to  the  road  that  crossed  the  plain.  At  the 
distance  of  a  few  miles  the  Rancho  San  Antonio 
showed  amid  its  clustering  shade  and  orchard  trees. 

"Let  us  dismount  for  a  bit,"  suggested  Sharkey. 
"I  feel  all  in — dead  beat  and  tired." 

E(i349]) 


350       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"But  how  will  I  get  you  on  to  your  horse  again?" 
replied  Dick,  a  trifle  dubiously. 

"Oh,  we'll  manage  that.    Please  help  me  down." 

Dick  sprang  to  the  ground,  dropped  the  reins 
over  his  pony's  head,  and  soon  had  Leach  Sharkey 
on  terra  firma. 

"You're  no  light  weight  to  handle,"  he  laughed. 
"By  the  way,  Sharkey,  I  forgot  to  ask:  Where's 
your  boss  this  afternoon?" 

Sharkey  eyed  Dick  curiously. 

"You  don't  know?" 

"Why  should  I  know?  It's  quite  a  time  since 
I  met  the  gentleman." 

"You  are  aware  who  Pierre  Luzon  is?" 

"Certainly.  Pierre  has  come  to  be  quite  a 
friend  of  mine.  He's  a  good  fellow  all  right." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Dick  was  rolling 
a  cigarette,  Sharkey  furtively  watching  every 
expression  on  his  face. 

"Well,  the  Frenchie  played  me  a  dirty  trick 
when  he  threw  that  key  away,"  remarked  the 
sleuth,  rattling  the  handcuffs  behind  his  back. 

"I  guess  Pierre  was  resolved  to  take  no 
chances,"  replied  Dick,  grinning  through  the 
tobacco  smoke  as  he  surveyed  the  helpless  body 
guard.  "He  only  needed  a  pair  of  hobbles  to 
complete  the  job." 


EXIT  LEACH  SHARKEY  351 

A  muttered  curse  came  from  Sharkey's  lips — 
but  this  was  an  aside.  For  Dick  he  had  an  insinu 
ating  smile. 

"You  might  get  these  blamed  handcuffs  off  all 
right,  Willoughby.  Look  at  that  big  boulder 
there.  If  I  set  my  hands  across  it,  you  might  ham 
mer  through  the  chain.  Or  if  you  have  a  pistol, 
that  might  do  the  trick." 

"No,  I've  got  no  pistol,"  Dick  replied. 

He  did  not  notice  the  gleam  of  satisfaction  in 
Sharkey's  eyes — the  wolfish  smile  at  the  corners 
of  his  wolf -like  teeth.  At  the  moment  he  was 
looking  around  for  a  convenient  stone  that  might 
serve  as  a  hammer. 

"But  I  think  I  might  break  that  chain  all  right 
with  this,"  he  went  on,  as  he  stooped  and  picked 
up  a  heavy,  sharp-edged  fragment  of  granite  from 
the  rock-strewn  ground.  "Come  along,  then. 
Set  your  wrists  just  here.  At  least,  we  can  try." 

The  trial  succeeded — the  slender  steel  strain 
stretched  across  the  boulder  soon  yielded  to  the 
succession  of  battering  blows. 

Sharkey  flung  his  great  big  brawny  arms  aloft. 
He  was  still  wearing  the  bracelets,  but  his  hands 
were  free. 

"Feels  better,  don't  it?"  said  Dick,  with  a 
sympathetic  smile. 


352       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"A  damned  sight  better,"  roared  the  sleuth,  as 
he  turned  quickly  round.  "Now,  young  man, 
you  are  my  prisoner.  I  arrest  you  for  jail-break 
ing.  There's  my  star.  I  don't  say  hands  up,  for 
I  know  you  haven't  a  gun." 

As  he  spoke,  Sharkey  opened  his  coat  so  that 
the  official  badge  might  be  displayed. 

Dick  in  his  amazement  stepped  back,  just  one 
pace.  Sharkey  advanced,  his  high  hands  out 
stretched. 

"Make  no  trouble,  now.  You  know  I  am  only 
doing  my  duty." 

"Duty  be  hanged,"  cried  Dick,  as  with  a  swift 
uppercut  he  caught  his  would-be  captor  on  the 
jaw.  Sharkey  staggered,  and  Dick,  with  a  right- 
arm  swing,  banged  him  on  the  temple,  bowling 
him  over  like  a  ninepin. 

Sharkey  was  soon  on  his  hands  and  knees; 
then  dazed  and  tottering,  he  got  onto  his  feet 
again.  But  Dick  was  watchfully  waiting,  and  with 
sharp  jabs,  right  and  left,  sent  him  down  once 
more.  The  sleuth  lay  motionless  now. 

Like  a  flash  Dick  grabbed  the  riata  hanging 
from  the  saddle-horn  of  his  pony,  and  without  a 
moment's  loss  of  time  had  its  coils  around  the 
arms  and  chest  of  the  prostrate  man,  roping  him 
like  a  thrown  steer  with  all  the  skill  of  the  trained 


EXIT  LEACH  SHARKEY  353 

cowboy.  In  a  brief  minute  the  knots  were  tied, 
and  with  the  final  clove-hitch  the  fallen  Samson 
was  turned  over  on  his  back.  Sharkey's  eyes 
opened,  glaring  dully  at  his  conqueror. 

"You  contemptible  hound!"  exclaimed  Dick, 
as  he  tossed  the  loose  end  of  the  lariat  from  him. 
"By  God,  I've  seen  a  few  low-down  things  done 
in  my  lifetime,  but  this  is  certainly  the  limit. 
I  suppose  you  would  have  betrayed  me  for  the 
sake  of  the  reward,  even  though  you  know  now 
for  certain  that  I  was  wrongfully  arrested  at  the 
start.  You  damned  Judas!  You  deserve  to  be 
hanged  like  a  horse-thief,  Leach  Sharkey — that's 
about  your  proper  finish." 

And  Dick  in  his  righteous  indignation  glanced 
around  as  if  in  search  of  a  convenient  tree  for  the 
operation. 

"I'll  give  no  further  trouble,"  mumbled  Sharkey. 

"It  will  be  my  particular  care  that  you  don't," 
replied  Dick.  "Get  up,  you  hulking  brute."  And 
grabbing  the  coils  of  the  riata,  he  fairly  lifted 
Sharkey  to  his  feet. 

"Now,  I  wouldn't  shame  the  pony  by  putting 
you  on  his  back  again.  Follow  me." 

Picking  up  the  free  end  of  the  rope,  and  gather 
ing  the  leading  rein  of  Sharkey's  horse  into  the 
same  hand,  Willoughby  vaulted  into  his  saddle. 


354       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Come  along,"  he  called  out,  turning  round  as 
the  riata  came  taut.  And  thus,  a  dozen  paces 
behind,  the  sleuth,  discomfited  again  a  second 
time  that  day,  and  humiliated  worse  than  ever, 
followed  perforce  in  his  victor's  trail. 

Perhaps  half  a  mile  of  the  open  road  was  thus 
traversed,  Dick  speaking  not  another  word,  but 
looking  round  occasionally  and  giving  an  ener 
getic  yank  at  the  rope  whenever  there  was  evidence 
of  laggard  steps.  Sharkey  stumbled  along,  his 
chin  buried  in  his  breast,  his  eyes  half-closed  to 
conceal  their  dumb,  vicious  glare  of  concentrated 
but  impotent  fury. 

They  had  now  reached  a  gate;  Dick  dismounted 
and  threw  it  open,  pointing  the  way  for  Sharkey 
to  take. 

"It's  about  five  miles  to  the  rancho,"  he  said. 
"I  don't  know  how  you'll  get  through  the  other 
gates,  but  I  reckon  you  can  crawl  under  them, 
like  the  snake  you've  proved  yourself  to  be.  Now, 
off  you  go,"  and  with  the  words  he  looped  the  loose 
end  of  the  riata  around  the  victim's  shoulders. 
"That's  a  better  necktie  than  you  deserve,  Leach 
Sharkey.  If  it  was  any  one  but  myself,  you 
would  be  helped  to  a  start  by  a  few  vigorous 
kicks  behind." 

The  sleuth  shambled  through  the  gateway,  with 


EXIT  LEACH  SHARKEY  355 

shamed,  averted  face.  With  a  click  the  gate  was 
closed.  For  just  a  few  minutes  Dick  watched  the 
figure  moving  away  through  the  now  gathering 
dusk.  Then  he  laid  a  hand  on  his  saddle-horn. 

"I  hope  it's  the  last  I'll  see  of  that  animal," 
he  murmured  to  himself,  as  he  sprang  lightly  into 
the  saddle.  And  at  a  canter  he  started  along  the 
road,  the  led  pony,  after  a  few  heel-kicks  as  if  in 
joy  at  being  relieved  of  its  burden,  soon  dropping 
into  the  swinging  stride. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
The  Fight  on  the  Cliff 

FOR  a  few  moments  Don  Manuel  contem 
plated  the  cowering  figure  of  Ben  Thurston 
in  contemptuous  silence.  His  end  was 
accomplished;  his  enemy  was  in  his  power;  like 
the  cat  with  the  mouse  just  a  few  inches  from  its 
paw,  he  could  strike  at  any  moment.  He  spoke 
now  with  measured  calm. 

"Do  you  remember  what  day  this  is?  The 
eleventh  of  October." 

He  paused  for  a  reply.  Thurston's  lips  were 
parted  but  remained  dumb.  Don  Manuel  re 
sumed: 

"Thirty  years  ago  this  very  night — here  at  this 
very  spot,  you  brutally  killed  my  poor  little  sister, 
Rosetta." 

Thurston  shrank  back.  His  lips  moved,  but 
no  sound  came. 

"Oh,  attempt  no  denial,"  continued  Don 
Manuel,  for  the  moment  clenching  a  menacing 
fist  over  him.  "You  cannot  forget  the  tell-tale 
button  which  you  snatched  from  my  hand  to  hide 

(356) 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  CLIFF        357 

the  proof.  Nor  ha.ve  I  forgotten  the  lash  of  your 
quirt  that  drew  blood  from  my  cheek" — and  he 
wiped  his  face  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers  as  if  to 
rub  away  the  memory  of  the  deadly  insult — "the 
very  day  on  which  I  buried  my  dear  father  and 
mother,"  he  added,  in  a  voice  vibrant  with 
emotion. 

He  bowed  his  head;  there  was  another  brief 
period  of  silence.  Then  he  recovered  himself 
and  went  on: 

"The  deaths  of  my  beloved  parents  are  just  as 
much  on  your  head,  Ben  Thurston,  as  the  death 
of  the  guileless,  innocent,  young  girl  whom  you 
betrayed,  and  then  with  coward  hands  pushed 
over  this  cliff,  mangling  her  body  on  the  rocks 
below.  My  vengeance  has  been  slow  in  coming, 
but  after  all,  I  am  glad  of  the  delay.  For  all 
through  these  years  you  have  not  only  suffered 
the  agony  of  constant  fear,  but  I  have  lived  to  see 
you  landless,  bereft  of  the  broad  rich  acres  which 
belonged  to  my  father  and  were  never  rightfully 
yours." 

"That's  not  so — my  claim  was  established  in 
the  law  courts."  Thurston  managed  to  articulate 
the  words.  The  sound  of  his  voice  seemed  to 
restore  some  little  measure  of  courage,  for  he  sat 
up,  and  leaning  an  elbow  on  a  rock,  adjusted 


358       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

himself  in  a  more  comfortable  position.  But  he 
did  not  seek  to  gain  his  feet — the  bandit's  figure 
still  towered  over  him. 

"Law  courts — your  American  law  courts!" 
exclaimed  Don  Manuel,  with  ineffable  scorn. 
"You  know  you  bribed  the  judge  who  gave  the 
decision.  Dare  you  deny  it?" 

Thurston  ventured  no  denial — his  dropped  jaw 
proclaimed  his  consciousness  of  guilt. 

"Nothing  was  too  base  for  you,"  Don  Manuel 
proceeded.  "You  robbed,  despoiled,  destroyed 
my  home.  But  now  at  last  your  hour  has  come. 
I  have  waited  patiently  for  this  hour.  On  many 
an  occasion,  Ben  Thurston,  I  could  have  shot  you 
dead  from  a  distance.  But  I  have  waited — waited 
— waited  for  the  time  when  you  would  know  that 
it  was  I,  the  White  Wolf,  who  was  sending  you  to 
your  doom  just  as  I  have  already  sent  your 
ruffian  son  to  his." 

"So  it  was  really  you — who  murdered  my  boy?" 
stammered  Thurston. 

"Don't  call  it  murder — it  was  righteous  retribu 
tion  for  both  him  and  you.  Oh,  I  can  tell  you 
something  tonight,  for  a  secret  does  not  pass  from 
a  dead  man's  lips." 

The  victim  so  confidently  doomed,  shuddered. 
Don  Manuel  continued: 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  CLIFF        359 

"Merle  Farns worth  is  my  daughter;  your  vile 
and  debauched  son  dared  to  insult  her,  and  so  he 
died — rightly  died.  Yes,  at  my  hands — I  take 
full  responsibility.  And  I  am  glad  to  tell  you 
this  before  you  follow  him  out  of  the  world.  To 
night,  Ben  Thurston,  you  go  over  this  cliff — you 
die  the  death  you  gave  to  my  sister." 

As  he  spoke,  Don  Manuel  cast  loose  his  Spanish 
cloak,  and  dropped  both  it  and  his  sombrero  to 
the  ground. 

Thurston  at  last  staggered  to  his  feet. 

"So  get  ready  now  to  fight  for  your  life,"  Don 
Manuel  resumed,  folding  his  arms  across  his 
breast  as  he  surveyed  his  victim. 

"But  I  am  unarmed,"  cried  Thurston,  pointing 
to  the  revolver  at  the  other's  belt.  His  out 
stretched  hand  trembled,  his  voice  was  a  terrified 
shriek. 

"Then  I,  too,  shall  be  unarmed,"  replied  Don 
Manuel,  as  he  unbuckled  his  belt  and  tossed  it 
lightly  from  him.  "Come  along,  then — it  is  man 
to  man  with  naked  hands."  His  tone  now  was 
one  of  concentrated  passion  and  hate,  and  he 
advanced  with  arms  extended  for  an  enfolding 
embrace. 

Now  did  Ben  Thurston  realize  that  his  only 
chance  for  life  lay  in  his  superior  weight,  possibly 


360       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

his  superior  strength.  At  the  thought,  craven  fear 
changed  of  a  sudden  to  the  courage  of  desperation, 
and  like  a  wild  cat  he  leaped  at  the  throat  of  his 
adversary. 

Then  began  a  terrible  struggle — two  strong 
men  writhing  in  each  other's  grip  like  savage 
beasts.  Soon  their  clothes  were  torn,  their  bodies 
begrimed  with  sweat  and  mud,  their  faces  and 
naked  arms  bespattered  with  blood,  for  Ben 
Thurston's  nose  had  been  broken  in  one  of  the 
first  falls.  Thurston,  besides  his  extra  pounds, 
had  also  the  advantage  of  being  younger  by  a  few 
years.  But  Don  Manuel  was  in  better  physical 
condition  and  his  muscles  were  like  bands  of 
steel.  So  it  was  pretty  much  of  a  level  match  in 
this  grim  fight  to  the  death. 

As  they  tugged  at  each  other,  as  each  attempted 
to  bear  the  other  down  or  trip  and  throw  him, 
as  at  times  each  tried  in  their  locked  embrace  to 
crush  in  his  adversary's  ribs  and  squeeze  the  last 
breath  out  of  his  body,  as  they  milled  round  and 
round,  swayed  and  fell  and  rolled  over  and  then 
for  a  moment  regained  a  kneeling  or  an  upright 
position — both  men  realized  that  it  was  the  one 
who  could  last  the  longest  with  whom  the  mastery 
would  rest. 

Pierre  Luzon,  running  up  the  trail,  came  to  the 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  CLIFF        361 

edge  of  the  open  space  where  the  desperate  con 
test  was  in  progress.  But  the  onlooker  did  not 
attempt  to  interfere — he  had  had  his  orders; 
he  just  crouched  and  watched  the  swaying, 
writhing  figures. 

For  an  hour  or  more  the  fight  proceeded,  at 
times  fast  and  furious,  with  breathing  spells  to 
follow,  during  which  grips  were  tenaciously  main 
tained.  Points  of  advantage  alternated  now 
to  the  one  side,  now  to  the  other,  but  after  each 
succeeding  tussle  both  combatants  were  exhausted 
without  victory  being  pronounced  for  either. 
Every  vestige  of  clothing  above  the  belt  line  had 
long  since  been  torn  away,  and  they  were  sweating 
like  lathered  horses. 

The  milling  and  wrestling  had  gradually  grown 
weaker,  and  it  was  clear  now  that  the  final  test 
of  endurance  could  not  be  much  longer  delayed. 
Yet  again  Don  Manuel  renewed  the  attack,  and 
had  forced  Thurston  to  his  knees,  when  the  latter 
by  a  supreme  effort  raised  himself  again,  and  then 
by  sheer  weight  pressed  his  opponent  back  a  pace 
or  two.  But  just  at  this  moment  Thurston 's 
strength  seemed  to  give  out,  for  he  dropped  down 
sideways,  dragging  his  enemy  after  him. 

Then   Pierre   Luzon    saw    the    object    of    the 

fr 

manoeuvre.    Thurston  had  gained  the  spot  where 


362       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Don  Manuel's  discarded  pistol  belt  was  lying, 
and  now  he  was  reaching  out  with  a  disengaged 
hand  to  grab  the  gun. 

The  Frenchman  darted  forward. 

"Keep  out  of  this,"  cried  Don  Manuel,  peremp 
torily,  although  he  was  breathing  hard. 

"Look  out!  Your  gun!"  screamed  Pierre,  as 
he  seized  Thurston's  wrist  in  a  vice-like  grip. 

Just  an  instant  too  late,  however,  for  Thurston's 
fingers  had  already  closed  round  the  weapon  and 
it  went  off  with  a  bang. 

Pierre  dropped  to  his  knees.  It  was  he  who  had 
received  the  bullet — through  one  of  his  lungs. 
But  he  had  wrested  the  pistol  from  the  treach 
erous  villain's  grasp  and  now  it  fell,  still  smoking, 
to  the  ground. 

The  wounded  man  coughed  a  great  mouthful 
of  crimson  blood  on  to  the  slab  of  rock.  Then  he 
recovered  himself  and  raised  his  head.  Thurston 
and  Don  Manuel,  even  in  their  weakened  state, 
were  fighting  more  desperately  than  ever,  blinded 
by  hate  to  every  sense  of  danger,  and  Pierre  was 
just  in  time  to  see  them  slip  on  some  loosened 
stones  and  then,  still  locked  in  the  death  clench, 
go  rolling  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 

"M on  Dieu!  Mon  Dieu!"  murmured  the  French 
man.  He  staggered  to  his  feet  and  without 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  CLIFF        363 

waiting  turned  and  started  down  the  steep  trail, 
stumbling  like  a  drunken  man. 

At  the  foot  of  the  zig-zag  pathway  he  gazed 
helplessly  around.  He  would  have  pushed  his 
way  through  the  brushwood  to  seek  his  beloved 
chief.  Dead!  He  must  be  dead.  No  one  could 
have  dropped  that  sheer  three  hundred  feet  onto 
the  cruel  jagged  rocks  below  and  live.  Yet,  who 
knows?  A  tree  might  have  broken  the  fall — Don 
Manuel  might  still  be  alive. 

Pierre,  however,  was  incapable  of  further 
effort.  His  limbs  trembled  beneath  him,  and 
again  he  was  spitting  blood. 

All  of  a  sudden  he  spied  the  two  horses  tethered 
under  the  manzanita  tree.  He  tottered  toward 
them,  untied  the  first  one  he  reached,  and  with 
difficulty  pulled  himself  up  into  the  saddle. 

To  reach  Dick  Willoughby  and  get  help — 
that  was  the  thought  in  the  reeling  brain  of  Pierre 
Luzon  as  with  a  final  effort,  leaning  forward  over 
the  saddle,  he  turned  his  steed  in  the  direction 
of  Buck  Ashley's  old  store,  and  urged  it  to  a 
canter. 


CHAPTER  XL 
Revelation 

MERLE  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway 
leading  up  to  one  of  the  towers  where 
Tia  Teresa  had  her  room.  She  delib 
erated  for  a  moment,  consulted  the  tiny  watch 
on  her  wrist,  then  turned  to  retrace  her  foot 
steps. 

"There  will  be  plenty  of  time,"  she  murmured 
to  herself.  "I  shall  be  best  able  to  manage  Tia 
Teresa  when  I  know  still  more  than  I  do  now." 

She  repaired  to  her  own  room  and  put  on  her 
automobile  cloak,  cap,  and  veil.  Without  telling 
anyone  of  her  plan,  she  left  the  house,  went  to 
the  garage,  selected  a  runabout  that  was  specially 
her  own,  and  was  soon  speeding  along  the  highway 
in  the  direction  of  the  cluster  of  hills  amid  which 
the  little  Mexican  cemetery  was  nestled. 

She  had  been  there  just  once  before,  several 
years  ago,  and  she  knew  that  her  machine  would 
have  no  difficulty  in  ascending  the  trail.  Within 
less  than  an  hour,  indeed,  she  was  at  her 
destination. 

(364) 


REVELATION  365 

In  the  grey  evening  twilight  the  place  looked 
very  dismal  and  desolate.  The  tiny  adobe  chapel 
in  one  corner  was  falling  into  ruins  because  of 
disuse  and  neglect.  A  tall  rank  growth  of  weeds 
overran  most  of  the  graves.  But  there  were  two 
that  showed  marks  of  loving  attention,  and  toward 
these  Merle  advanced.  Here  she  found  the  fresh 
wreaths  around  the  headstones,  and  her  own  roses 
scattered  on  the  turf. 

"Hermana" — she  read  the  single  word  on  the 
white  marble  cross  adorned  with  spotless  arum 
lilies.  "Sister,"  Merle  murmured,  translating  the 
word. 

Then  she  turned  to  the  big  gravestone  close  at 
hand,  and  moved  the  wreaths  of  red  carnations 
so  that  she  might  read  the  words  inscribed.  From 
these  she  soon  knew  that  this  was  the  family  burial 
place  of  the  de  Valencias — that  here  rested  the 
former  owners  of  the  San  Antonio  Rancho,  the 
beloved  parents  of  two  children,  Manuel  and 
Rosetta. 

"Manuel,"  "Rosetta" — she  repeated  the  names. 
The  latter  awakened  no  memory,  but  when  she 
filled  out  the  former  to  "Don  Manuel  de  Valencia," 
she  instantly  recalled  the  old-time  bandit  of  wThom 
she  had  heard  many  a  tale. 

"The    White    Wolf,"    she    murmured    eagerly. 


366       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Yes,  yes.  His  father  once  owned  the  rancho, 
and  that  was  the  cause  of  the  deadly  feud — the 
Vendetta  of  the  Hills.  But  I  thought  all  that  was 
forgotten.  Yet  here  are  the  beautiful  fresh 
flowers." 

Seating  herself  on  a  flat  monument  near  by, 
Merle  pondered,  piecing  things  together.  "Sister" 
—the  cross  must  mark  the  grave  of  the  girl 
Rosetta,  and  have  been  erected  by  her  brother, 
Don  Manuel.  Then  whose  hand  had  strewn  the 
roses?  Mr.  Robles!  In  a  flash  she  knew  that  Mr. 
Robles  was  Don  Manuel. 

And  her  father,  too !  The  further  thought  came 
with  such  suddenness,  with  such  absolute  convic 
tion  of  certainty,  that  for  a  moment  she  felt 
appalled.  Her  father  the  notorious  robber  chief, 
the  desperado  on  whose  head  a  price  had  been  set, 
the  outlaw  who  had  defied  the  whole  state  of 
California  to  arrest  him.  Somehow  she  felt  no 
shame — Don  Manuel  de  Valencia  had  been  a  sort 
of  heroic  knight-errant  in  all  the  stories  she  had 
heard — his  hand  only  against  the  rich,  his  heart 
always  for  the  poor  and  oppressed,  his  attitude 
toward  the  intrusive  gringos  quite  justified  by 
the  sharp  practice  whereby  he  had  been  robbed 
of  his  patrimonial  acres.  It  was  this  very  story 
of  wrong  which  had  been  one  of  the  reasons  that 


REVELATION  367 

had  from  the  first  predisposed  the  household  at 
La  Siesta  to  despise  the  Thurston  family  at  the 
Rancho  San  Antonio. 

Then  from  thinking  of  Don  Manuel,  Merle's 
mind  passed  to  Ricardo  Robles — the  courteous, 
dignified,  generous,  lovable  man  she  had  known 
all  her  life,  the  very  man  whom  she  had  rejoiced 
that  day  to  call  her  own  father.  Don  Manuel 
could  be  judged  only  by  this  standard,  and  her 
heart  went  out  again  to  Mr.  Robles,  whatever 
the  name  which  he  had  formerly  worn. 

The  shadows  were  closing  around  her,  the  night 
air  bit  sharply,  and  Merle  arose.  Two  or  three 
of  the  rose  blooms  had  fallen  beyond  the  lines  of 
white  stones  that  marked  the  graves.  Merle 
advanced,  and  picking  these  up  gently,  placed 
them  on  the  breasts  of  the  sleeping  dead.  Her  own 
kith  and  kin!  Now  she  realized  how  she  came 
to  have  brown  eyes  and  raven  tresses — the  blood 
of  Spain  was  in  her  veins.  With  this  thought 
throbbing  in  her  heart,  she  left  the  cemetery  and 
hurried  away  for  home. 

Tia  Teresa  was  the  only  Roman  Catholic  at 
La  Siesta,  a  devout  member  of  the  faith  of  her 
fathers  and  of  her  childhood  days  with  which 
no  one  around  her  had  ever  sought  to  interfere. 
Her  room  was  her  private  chapel,  a  curtained 


368      A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

recess  at  one  end  being  fitted  up  with  a  crucifix, 
a  small  altar,  and  a  prie-dieu. 

Here  Tia  Teresa  was  kneeling  and  praying,  the 
only  light  in  the  apartment  coming  from  the  altar 
candles,  when  Merle  softly  tiptoed  in,  still  wearing 
her  automobile  cloak.  She  hesitated  to  advance, 
and  momentarily  turned  to  withdraw.  But  Tia 
Teresa  had  seen  her,  and  by  a  gesture  had  bidden 
her  to  remain.  For  a  few  moments  the  old 
duenna's  lips  continued  to  move,  then  she  told 
another  bead  on  her  rosary,  arose  from  her  knees, 
crossed  herself  devoutly,  and  with  a  final  pros 
tration  before  the  crucifix,  terminated  her  devo 
tional  exercises. 

"What  brought  you  here,  my  child?"  she  asked, 
approaching  Merle. 

"Why  are  you  engaged  in  prayer  tonight?" 
asked  Merle,  answering  question  with  question. 

"You  know  I  often  pray,"  replied  Tia  Teresa. 
"You  have  seen  me  many,  many  times." 

"Yes,  but  not  at  this  hour,  when  you  are  always 
with  my  mother." 

"She  will  be  wondering  where  I  am.  I  had  better 
go  to  her  now." 

"No,"  rejoined  Merle.  "I  wish  to  speak  to 
you.  Come  here,  Tia  Teresa;  sit  down  by  my 
side,  and  treat  me  once  again  as  the  little  girl  of 


REVELATION  369 

the  long  ago  whom  you  used  to  pet  and  fondle." 

"That's  very  easily  done,"  responded  Tia 
Teresa,  with  a  pleased  smile,  seating  herself  on  the 
low  sofa  close  to  Merle.  "Come  to  my  heart, 
my  darling,  as  in  the  long  ago." 

And  the  duenna  drew  the  girl  to  her  loving, 
protecting  bosom.  She  noticed  now  that  Merle 
was  trembling  under  the  influence  of  some  deep 
emotion. 

"What  is  wrong  with  you,  my  dear?"  she  asked 
anxiously. 

"I  have  learned  many  things  today,  Tia  Teresa," 
replied  Merle,  taking  her  old  nurse's  hands  and 
softly  stroking  them.  "First,  that  Mr.  Robles  is 
my  father" — the  duenna  started,  but  Merle  went 
quietly  on — "and  that  he  is  really  Don  Manuel 
de  Valencia,  the  famous  outlaw." 

"Whoever  told  you  that?"  fairly  gasped  Tia 
Teresa. 

"No  one.  I  found  everything  out  for  myself. 
After  I  had  looked  into  Mr.  Robles'  eyes  at  our 
parting  this  afternoon,  I  knew  the  truth.  It  was 
impossible  for  mother  to  deny  it,  but  it  is  not  she 
who  has  told  me  anything.  I  have  just  returned 
from  the  little  Mexican  cemetery  on  the  hillside 
where  Mr.  Robles,  my  father,  had  taken  the 
flowers  for  which  he  asked  me." 


370       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"And  you  saw  his  flowers — and  my  flowers, 
too?"  faltered  the  duenna,  realizing  now  how 
Merle  had  gleaned  her  knowledge. 

"Yes;  I  inferred  that  the  wreaths  were  yours, 
and  of  course  I  knew  that  the  scattered  roses  were 
from  my  father.  He  is  Don  Manuel.  But  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  a  little  about  Rosetta."  It  was 
Merle  now  who  put  her  arms  around  Tia  Teresa 
and  drew  her  affectionately  to  her. 

"You  have  always  loved  me,  you  know,  my 
dear,"  the  girl  went  on  coaxingly.  "Now  I  under 
stand  why  you  were  so  deeply  attached  to  Mr. 
Robles,  for  you  told  me  once  that  you  had  nursed 
Don  Manuel.  And  that  is  why  I  have  been, 
perhaps,  just  a  little  closer  to  you  than  Grace"- 
the  pressure  of  Tia  Teresa's  arms  told  that  Merle 
had  correctly  divined — "because  I  was  of  the 
blood  of  your  old  master.  But  why  has  there  been 
all  this  secrecy  toward  me?" 

"Don  Manuel's  name  could  not  be  revealed — 
he  had  been  outlawed." 

"And  Rosetta — tell  me  about  Rosetta?" 

"She  was  the  real  cause  of  the  feud  between 
Mr.  Thurston  and  Don  Manuel." 

The  duenna  had  spoken  the  words  before  she 
had  realized  how  much  they  told.  With  unfalter 
ing  intuition  Merle  guessed  their  meaning. 


REVELATION  371 

"You  mean  to  tell  me  that  Thurston  wronged 
Rosetta — betrayed  her?" 

Tia  Teresa  nodded  assent — she  was  too  deeply 
agitated  to  speak  another  word. 

"And  this  day — the  eleventh  of  October — the 
day  when  you  decorate  her  grave?"  enquired 
Merle,  in  a  tone  and  with  a  look  that  compelled 
an  answer. 

"Is  the  day  she  was  found  dead  on  the  rocks 
below  Comanche  Point,"  replied  Tia  Teresa. 

At  the  same  moment  the  duenna  started  to  her 
feet.  A  wonderful  and  terrible  transition  came 
over  her  usually  placid  countenance.  Her  eyes 
fairly  blazed  with  mingled  fury  and  hatred.  Her 
fists  were  clenched  by  her  side.  Her  whole  frame 
trembled. 

"Murdered  by  Ben  Thurston!"  she  added,  the 
words  hissing  like  hot  lava  from  her  lips. 

"Murdered?"  cried  Merle,  incredulously.  She 
too,  had  risen. 

"Yes,  pushed  over  the  cliff  by  his  coward  hands. 
His  torn  coat,  one  of  the  buttons  between  her  dead 
fingers,  proclaimed  his  guilt  before  God  and  man. 
But  there  was  no  justice  in  the  land  in  those  days — 
the  days  when  the  gringos  broke  up  our  Spanish 
homes.  Now  you  know  everything — that  was  the 
real  reason  of  the  Vendetta  of  the  Hills." 


372       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

Tia  Teresa  was  calm  again — it  was  Merle  who 
was  deeply  agitated,  too  deeply  agitated  for  a 
moment  to  speak. 

The  duenna  went  on  triumphantly.  "But  the 
vendetta  once  sworn  will  always  be  fulfilled. 
Tonight  at  Comanche  Point — 

Then  she  stopped  short,  as  she  saw  the  look  of 
terror  and  horror  on  Merle's  pale  face. 

"Tonight?"  queried  the  young  girl  tremulously. 
"They  meet  tonight?  Then  that  is  where  Mr. 
Robles  is  going — that  is  why  he  bade  us  all  that 
sad  good-bye?  My  father,  oh,  my  dear  father!" 

And  dropping  down  again  on  the  sofa,  she  burst 
into  a  passion  of  weeping. 

Tia  Teresa  sought  to  soothe  her.  But  Merle 
was  not  to  be  comforted.  Yet  while  she  sobbed 
she  was  thinking,  for  suddenly  she  rose  again  and 
dashed  away  her  tears. 

"At  what  hour  tonight?"  she  asked. 

"I  do  not  know,"  answered  the  duenna. 

"Then  he  is  in  danger — perhaps  at  this  very 
moment  he  is  in  danger.  Don  Manuel's  life — my 
father's  life  is  worth  a  hundred  lives  of  such  a 
man  as  Ben  Thurston.  Quick,  quick,  Teresa. 
Get  your  mantilla  and  cloak.  My  runabout  is  in 
readiness.  There,  let  me  help  you." 

Merle  was  speaking  with  swift  insistence. 


REVELATION  373 

"Where  are  you  going?"  whispered  Tia  Teresa, 
as  the  girl's  fingers  were  buttoning  her  cloak. 

"To  Comanche  Point.  We  may  not  be  too  late 
to  save  him." 

A  minute  later  the  two  women  had  stolen  down 
the  narrow  stairway  of  the  tower  and  were  speed 
ing  through  the  gathering  darkness  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XLI 
Beneath  the  Precipice 

WILLOUGHBY  had  found  his  friends 
Munson  and  Jack  Rover  at  Buck  Ashley's 
old  store,  eagerly  awaiting  his  coming, 
with  a  fine  supper  sizzling  on  the  cook  stove,  pre 
pared  in  Jack's  finest  professional  cowboy  style. 

"We've  got  to  feed  you  up  a  bit,  I  reckon," 
grinned  Jack,  as  he  slipped  the  Gargantuan  slab 
of  beef-steak  from  the  griller  on  to  the  big  hot 
dish  waiting  for  its  reception. 

"And  some  potatoes,  too,"  he  went  on,  "not 
forgetting  the  fried  onions  that  beat  all  your  new 
fangled  sauces  to  a  frazzle." 

Dick  was  nothing  loth  to  fall  to.  He  had  been 
too  excited  to  do  more  than  taste  the  midday  meal 
that  Pierre  Luzon  had  prepared  for  him  in  the 
cavern.  It  had  been  a  long  hard  day,  and  now 
he  was  hungry  as  a  wolf.  In  ordinary  circum 
stances  he  had  no  objection  to  fried  onions,  but, 
with  delicate  regard  for  possible  contingencies,  he 
left  to  the  others  a  monopoly  over  this  item  in 
the  bill-of-fare. 

(374) 


BENEATH  THE  PRECIPICE         375 

There  were  so  many  things  to  talk  about  that 
it  was  a  difficult  matter  to  know  where  to  begin. 
But  at  the  close  of  the  meal  Jack  Rover  solved  the 
question  by  sweeping  the  supper  things  from  the 
table,  and  emptying  thereon  the  contents  of  one 
of  the  bags  of  gold. 

"Good  old  Guadalupe!"  exclaimed  the  delighted 
cowboy,  as  he  patted  the  nuggets  with  a  loving 
hand.  "I  always  told  you  that  the  ancient  squaw 
had  a  real  gold  mine.  I  guess  we'll  be  able  to 
stake  out  our  claims  tomorrow,  eh,  Dick,  my 
boy?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  smiled  Willoughby.  "The 
fact  is  that,  although  I  helped  to  wash  out  that 
gold,  I  have  not  the  faintest  idea  where  the  riffle 
is  up  among  the  hills." 

Jack's  face  fell.  There  was  a  moment  of  dis 
appointed  silence,  and  just  then  there  came  the 
sound  of  a  faint  tapping  at  the  outer  door. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Munson.  The  faces  of 
all  three  showed  that  they  had  heard  simul 
taneously. 

Dick  rose,  crossed  over,  and  threw  the  door 
wide  open. 

"My  God,  who's  this?"  he  asked,  as  he  stooped 
over  the  figure  lying  prone  across  the  steps. 
"Pierre,  Pierre!"  he  added,  as  he  turned  over  the 


376       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

face.  "It's  Pierre  Luzon,  boys,  and  desperately 
wounded!" 

The  others  were  pressed  together  in  the  doorway. 

"Looks  as  if  he  had  crawled  here  on  his  hands 
and  knees,"  remarked  Munson. 

"There's  his  horse  out  among  the  chaparral," 
exclaimed  Jack,  pointing  to  the  shadowy  form  of 
the  animal  from  which  the  wounded  man  had 
obviously  tumbled. 

"Stand  clear,"  cried  Dick,  gathering  up  Pierre 
in  his  arms.  "He  has  fainted,  but  is  still  alive." 

And  Dick,  carrying  the  senseless  form,  passed 
into  the  bedroom  beyond  the  living  room,  and  there 
laid  poor  old  Pierre  on  the  very  cot  which  he  had 
occupied  once  before — on  the  eventful  night  when 
Tom  Baker  had  brought  the  paroled  convict  from 
San  Quentin. 

A  few  drops  of  whisky  brought  the  wounded 
man  back  to  consciousness.  Dick  leaned  over 
him  and  caught  the  faintly  whispered  words. 
Pierre  was  speaking  in  the  French  of  his  child 
hood  days. 

"He  is  dead — he  is  dead!  At  last  Rosetta  is 
avenged!" 

Dick  motioned  his  companions  to  silence.  He 
bent  down  close  to  the  dying  bandit. 

"Who  is  dead,  Pierre?! Ben  Thurston?" 


BENEATH  THE  PRECIPICE         377 

"Yes,  yes.  Ben  Thurston.  Glory  be  to  God! 
Don  Manuel  is  avenged!" 

"And  how  did  you  come  to  be  shot,  Pierre? 
Where  is  Don  Manuel?" 

"Dead — dead,  too!"  The  wounded  man  this 
time  cried  out  the  words  and  struggled  to  sit  up. 
His  eyes  opened  wide,  and  fastened  themselves 
on  Dick.  His  voice  again  dropped  to  a  whisper; 
he  was  speaking  lucidly  now.  "But  perhaps  he 
lives.  Who  knows?  Go  and  save  him,  Dick — 
Don  Manuel — go,  go." 

Exhausted,  Pierre  sank  back  on  the  pillow.  His 
eyes  closed.  The  death  rattle  was  in  his  throat. 

"Where  is  he — where  shall  I  find  Don  Manuel?" 

Dick  uttered  the  words  close  to  Pierre's  ear. 
He  alone  caught  the  faint  answer.  Pierre  Luzon 
was  dead. 

"He's  gone,  Chester,"  said  Dick,  standing  erect. 

Munson  stooped,  put  his  ear  to  Pierre's  breast, 
then  pressed  apart  one  pair  of  the  eyelids. 

"Yes,  it's  all  over,"  he  said  solemnly,  as  he  folded 
the  coverlet  over  the  already  marble-like  face. 

In  stricken  silence  the  three  men  passed  to  the 
outer  room,  shutting  the  door  softly  behind  them. 

"What's  happened?"  asked  Jack  Rover,  "I 
couldn't  catch  his  bloomin'  lingo." 

"Something  terrible.     There  has  evidently  been 


378       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

a  fight  to  the  death  on  Comanche  Point  between 
Ben  Thurston  and  Don  Manuel.  Looks  as  if  both 
of  them  had  gone  over  the  cliff  in  the  struggle." 

"Gee!"  muttered  the  cowboy. 

Dick  remained  just  a  moment  in  deep  thought. 
His  plan  of  action  was  promptly  decided  on. 

"Munson,  old  man,  you  saddle  my  pony,  and 
ride  to  Tejon  for  help.  Jack,  you  remain  here 
with  the  body." 

"And  with  the  nuggets,"  remarked  the  cowboy 
drily. 

Dick  paid  no  heed  to  the  interruption.  He 
continued: 

"I'll  take  the  horse  outside,  and  ride  back  to 
Comanche  Point.  That's  the  best  we  can  do, 
and  the  main  thing  is  to  do  it  quickly.  Pass  me 
that  flask  of  whisky — it  may  come  in  handy. 
I'm  off  now,  boys.  You'll  find  me  at  the  cliff. 
Bring  a  doctor,  Ches.  So  long!" 

The  moon  had  now  risen,  and  while  Dick  was 
galloping  toward  Comanche  Point  from  the  one 
direction,  the  runabout,  with  Merle  at  the  wheel 
and  Tia  Teresa  by  her  side,  was  speeding  from 
the  other  end  of  the  valley  toward  the  same  des 
tination.  The  horseman  was  the  first  to  arrive. 

Willoughby  had  no  need  to  search  long  beneath 
the  precipice.  A  loud,  continuous  cry  of  lamenta- 


BENEATH  THE  PRECIPICE         379 

tion  guided  him  to  the  spot.  There,  wailing  over 
the  corpse  of  Don  Manuel,  was  the  old  Indian 
squaw,  Guadalupe.  Even  in  death  the  two  bodies 
were  locked  in  each  other's  embrace,  and  Dick 
noted  with  horror  that  Ben  Thurston's  teeth  were 
buried  in  the  flesh  of  his  enemy's  shoulder. 
Guadalupe  was  in  the  act  of  trying  to  separate 
the  dead  men  when  Dick  intervened. 

Great  heavens,  what  a  withered,  aged  face  was 
raised  toward  his  own!  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  ever  seen  Guadalupe  unveiled  and  at  close 
quarters.  Her  cheeks  were  wrinkled  into  a 
hundred  folds;  her  eyes  were  sunken  in  deep 
cavernous  hollows.  When  he  touched  her,  she 
rose  and,  jabbering  furiously  for  all  the  world 
like  an  angry  ape,  reviled  him  with  curses,  her 
meaning  unmistakable,  although  she  spoke  in  some 
strange  Indian  tongue. 

Just  then  Dick  caught  the  distant  chug-chug 
of  the  automobile.  He  looked  up  the  valley, 
wondering  who  might  be  passing  at  that  hour 
of  night.  This  was  not  the  main  highway; 
nobody  ever  came  to  Comanche  Point  after 
dark.  Some  intervening  spur  of  the  foothills 
dulled  the  sound;  all  was  still  and  silent. 

He  became  conscious  that  Guadalupe's  fury  had 
spent  itself,  and  turned  round.  The  squaw  was 


380       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

gone.  His  eyes  searched  the  scrub ;  at  one  place  he 
saw  the  twigs  bending,  and  he  even  fancied  he 
could  detect  the  outline  of  the  white  wolf  gliding 
away  through  the  brushwood.  But  that  was  all. 

Again  the  sound  of  the  automobile  smote  his 
ears;  louder  now,  and  only  a  few  hundred  yards 
away  he  beheld  the  headlights  sweeping  toward 
the  spot  where  he  stood.  He  resolved  to  intercept 
the  vehicle  and  stepped  across  the  belt  of  chaparral 
that  intervened  between  him  and  the  roadway. 
Gaining  the  thoroughfare,  he  called  aloud  and  the 
machine  slowed  down. 

But  what  was  his  utter  amazement  when  Merle 
jumped  from  the  runabout.  To  her  there  could 
be  no  more  surprises  on  this  night  of  surprises. 

"Dick,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  accepted  his 
embrace  almost  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"How  do  you  come  to  be  here,  Merle,  my 
darling?"  he  asked,  holding  her  in  his  arms. 

"Something  terrible  is  going  to  happen.  I 
have  come  to  try  to  prevent  it.  Have  you  seen 
Don  Manuel?" 

"Don  Manuel!"  He  repeated  the  name  in 
great  surprise. 

"Mr.  Robles  is  Don  Manuel,"  she  gasped  by 
way  of  explanation. 

"I  am  aware.     He  told  me  so  today." 


BENEATH  THE  PRECIPICE         381 

"Well,  where  is  he  now?  And  his  enemy,  Mr. 
Thurston?" 

Dick  still  had  an  arm  on  her  shoulder.  She 
was  gazing  up  into  his  face,  her  voice  trembling 
with  emotion  as  she  breathlessly  plied  him  with 
her  questions. 

"You  have  come  too  late,  dearest,"  Willoughby 
gently  replied. 

"Dead!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Both  are  dead.  They  fought  and  rolled  over 
the  precipice.  I  have  just  found  their  bodies 
lying  in  the  chaparral  back  there." 

Merle  leaned  forward,  sobbing  on  his  breast. 

"Take  me  to  him,  take  me  to  him,"  she 
cried. 

"No,  Merle,  my  dear.  It  is  better  not.  You 
must  go  home.  Tia  Teresa,"  he  added,  addressing 
the  duenna  who  had  drawn  near,  "she  must  go 
home.  Munson  has  gone  to  Tejon  for  help. 
There  will  be  people  arriving  here  very  soon 
now." 

"He  is  really  dead — Don  Manuel?"  asked 
Tia  Teresa  in  a  voice  of  awed  sadness. 

"The;e  can  be  nothing  but  the  one  answer," 
replied  Dick.  "Don  Manuel  has  passed  on." 

"Take  me  to  him,"  moaned  Merle. 

"No,  no,  Merle.     This  is  no  sight  for  you." 


382       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

"But,  Dick,  Dick,  don't  you  know  one  other 
thing?"  she  pleaded,  raising  her  tearful  eyes. 

"What  other  thing?" 

"Don  Manuel — was  my  father — my  dear,  dear 
father." 

Again  Willoughby  was  overwhelmed  with  amaze 
ment. 

"Your  father?"  he  murmured. 

"Yes,  I  only  came  to  know  it  today.  So, 
Dick,  dear,  even  though  he  is  dead,  let  me  kiss 
him  now,  let  me  kneel  by  his  side  and  tell  him 
that  I  loved  him,  and  will  always  love  and  revere 
his  memory.  Let  me  watch  by  him  until  the 
others  come." 

Dick  drew  the  sobbing  girl  close  to  him.  His 
eyes  sought  those  of  Tia  Teresa.  He  shook  his 
head,  telling  the  duenna  in  an  unmistakable  way 
that  Merle  must  be  taken  home — that  she  must 
not  be  shocked  by  the  gruesome  spectacle  hidden 
in  the  chaparral. 

Even  as  their  eyes  met,  the  faint  throb  of  an 
automobile  was  heard,  and  glancing  across  the 
plain  Dick  saw  the  far-away  headlights  twinkling 
like  twin  stars.  With  a  gesture  he  directed  Tia 
Teresa's  attention  to  the  coming  help. 

"I  shall  watch  by  our  beloved  dead  one,"  said 
the  duenna.  "My  place  is  by  his  side.  Come, 


BENEATH  THE  PRECIPICE         383 

dearie,"  she  went  on,  placing  an  arm  around 
Merle's  waist.  "Mr.  Willoughby  will  drive  you 
back  to  La  Siesta,  and  I  shall  see  that  your 
father's  body  is  taken  to  his  home.  There  we 
shall  pay  all  honor  to  the  dead." 

Together  they  led  Merle,  unresisting  now,  to 
the  runabout.  Dick  got  in  beside  her,  and  took 
the  wheel. 

"They  will  be  here  very  soon  now,"  he  said 
to  Tia  Teresa.  "Mr.  Munson  will  give  you  all 
the  help  you  require.  I'll  look  after  Merle." 

He  backed  the  machine,  turned,  and  the  little 
red  light  swept  up  the  roadway  into  the  distance. 
From  across  the  valley  the  headlights  of  a  big 
automobile  were  now  glaring  like  flashing  suns 
in  the  soft  moonlight. 

It  was  the  hands  of  Tia  Teresa  that  separated 
the  bodies.  That  of  Ben  Thurston  she  flung 
from  her  as  if  it  had  been  carrion  for  the  buzzards 
and  coyotes.  Then  she  knelt  down  and  stroked 
with  loving  hand  the  brow  of  Don  Manuel.  On 
the  dead  face  was  a  look  of  ineffable  calm. 

"Manuel,  my  Manuel,  the  little  child  I  nursed! 
My  beautiful,  brave  Manuel!" 

Thus  lamenting,  she  awaited  the  coming  of 
Munson  and  his  friends. 


CHAPTER  XLII 
Wedding  Bells 

A  FULL   year   had   passed,    and   the   good 
people  of  Tejon  had  at  last  ceased  to  speak 
daily    about   Dick    Willoughby's    exciting 
adventures,  Ben  Thurston's  inglorious  death,  and 
the  romantic  and  now  indubitable  ending  of  the 
famous  outlaw,  Don  Manuel. 

Both  the  victims  of  the  desperate  fight  on 
Comanche  Point  had  been  laid  to  rest — Don 
Manuel,  in  the  little  Mission  churchyard  above 
the  hill,  side  by  side  with  the  beloved  sister  of 
his  youthful  days,  whose  betrayal  and  death  he 
had  at  last  avenged,  although  at  the  cost  of  his 
own  life;  Ben  Thurston,  in  the  modern  cemetery 
beside  his  son,  the  poor  weak  youth  in  whom  the 
once  sturdy  family  of  pioneers  had  sunk  to  final 
decadency.  Pierre  Luzon,  the  brave  and  chival 
rous  old  Frenchman,  slept  near  the  grave  of  the 
chief  he  had  served  so  loyally,  and,  according 
to  the  old-time  bandit  code  of  ethics,  so  nobly 
and  so  well.  In  the  God's  acres  where  all  feuds 
pass  to  oblivion  there  was  perfect  peace. 

(384) 


WEDDING  BELLS  385 

Sing  Ling  had  unobtrusively  departed  for  China, 
a  wealthy  man,  as  the  bank  manager  at  Bakers- 
field  could  have  told,  no  doubt  destined  to  become 
a  leading  magnate  in  the  Flowery  Land.  Guada- 
lupe  was  never  seen  again;  the  aged  squaw  had 
probably  died  in  her  secret  cave.  The  white 
wolf*  too,  had  perished;  a  cowboy  riding  the 
range  had  been  attracted  by  some  buzzards  flying 
and  circling  round  and  round  far  up  on  the  moun 
tain  side,  and  on  making  his  way  to  the  indicated 
spot,  had  found  the  animal's  carcass  picked 
almost  to  the  bones.  The  old  days  were  forever 
gone. 

But  in  the  beautiful  city  of  Tejon  a  glorious 
era  of  happiness  was  in  progress.  Christmas-tide 
had  come  round  again,  and  had  been  made  gay 
with  a  tournament  of  roses,  and  then  with  the 
dawning  of  the  New  Year  had  followed  a  round 
of  festivities  in  honor  of  the  double  wedding  of 
Dick  Willoughby  and  Merle  Farnsworth,  Chester 
Munson  and  Grace  Darlington. 

In  no  place  was  there  more  sincere  and  hilarious 
rejoicing  than  in  the  back  parlor  of  Buck  Ashley's 
fine  new  store,  where  the  mystery  keg,  sacredly 
reserved  for  this  great  occasion,  was  once  more  on 
tap  and  the  postmaster,  assisted  by  Tom  Baker 
and  Jack  Rover,  dispensed  hospitality  to  a  few 


386       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

chosen  friends.  But  all  good  things  come  to  an 
end,  and  it  was  with  a  regretful  sigh  that  the 
sheriff  squeezed  out  the  last  few  drops  from  the 
tilted  keg  and  sipped  for  the  last  time  "the 
blessed  nectar"  that  had  served  to  keep  green  the 
memory  of  "dear  old  Pierre." 

The  marriage  ceremonies  had  been  performed 
in  a  fine  little  church  that  sheltered  all  denomina 
tions  in  the  new  town,  and  amidst  a  shower  of  rice 
and  old  shoes  the  happy  couples  had  departed  for 
the  wedding  breakfast  at  La  Siesta. 

To  Merle  the  day  was  one  of  blissful  joy,  but  of 
tender  regrets  as  well.  During  the  quiet  afternoon 
hours  she  and  Dick  had  conversed  about  their 
dear  old  friend,  Mr.  Robles — the  gallant  and 
chivalrous  Don  Manuel — the  beloved  father 
whose  identity  as  such  was  known  only  to  their 
own  two  selves  besides  Mrs.  Darlington  and  Tia 
Teresa. 

And  now  the  hour  of  departure  on  the  honey 
moon  trail  had  come.  The  idea  of  a  trip  to  Europe 
had  been  abandoned  for  the  present.  The  young 
couples  were  going  up  among  the  Canadian 
Rockies,  by  divergent  routes  which  would  meet 
a  little  later  on,  and  all  were  full  of  enthusiasm 
at  the  thought  of  seeing  the  mighty  mountains  in 
their  wintry  grandeur. 


WEDDING  BELLS  387 

Mrs.  Darlington  accompanied  the  young  people 
to  the  railway  station,  but  Tia  Teresa  was  too 
deeply  affected  to  trust  herself  away  from  home. 
Merle  had  kissed  her  a  tender  good-bye  in  the 
apartment  in  the  tower,  and,  despite  the  joyful 
promise  that  they  would  soon  meet  again,  had 
left  the  old  duenna  in  prayerful  tears  before  her 
little  altar. 

At  last  they  were  pulling  out  from  the  depot, 
where  the  church  crowd  of  the  morning  had  re 
assembled  in  full  force,  with  fresh  supplies  of 
good-luck  munitions. 

Thus,  like  a  disbanding  company  of  players, 
the  actors  in  this  tale  of  California,  pass  into 
history.  The  olden  days  of  bandits  are  no  more, 
while  the  hatred  of  the  gringo  is  only  a  tradition. 
The  broad  acres  of  the  San  Antonio  Rancho  no 
longer  lie  comparatively  fallow  in  Nature's  pasture, 
but  are  tilled  by  the  thrifty  plowman  as  he  labors 
afield  with  fullest  confidence  of  a  bountiful 
reward.  Meanwhile,  the  mountains  that  look 
down  upon  the  beauteous  valley  guard  their  secret 
well.  But  searching  eyes  will  yet,  undoubtedly, 
sometime,  somewhere,  rediscover  the  mysterious 
cavern  with  its  hoarded  millions  of  loot,  stored  by 
the  rapacious  hands  of  Joaquin  Murietta,  the 
White  Wolf,  and  their  brigand  bands,  its  lake  of 


388       A  VENDETTA  OF  THE  HILLS 

oil  from  which  outlaws  fed  their  lamps,  and  its 
subterranean  river  from  whose  shallow  riffles 
Guadalupe,  and  Dick  Willoughby  also,  gathered 
a  wealth  of  golden  spoil. 


THE  END 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THIS  BOOK 

THE  TREASURE  of 
HIDDEN  VALLEY 

THIS  is  a  fascinating  romance  of  the  West,  which 
Willis  George  Emerson  knows  better  than  any 
other  novelist.     It  has  all  the  dramatic  power 
of  this  author's  famous  "Buell  Hampton,"  who  appears 
again  as  a  leading  character  in  this  story.    The  charac 
ters  are  real,  the  scenes  are  real  and  the  story  thrills 
with  intense  human  interest.     It  is  a  great,  powerful 
novel  that  delights  everybody. 

This  is  a  real  story,  told  with  a  power  that  grips. — Cincinnati 
Times-Star. 

Contains  a  thousand  thrills.  Packed  full  of  incident.  Emerson 
gets  there. — Philadelphia  North  American. 

This  book  deserves  popularity. —  New  York  Herald. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  novels  of  the  year. — Pittsburg 
Dispatch. 

Grips  with  its  stirring  power.  It  is  a  story  which  goes  with  a 
whirl  from  the  first  page,  and  is  well  worth  reading. — Dayton 
Journal. 

The  story  is  all  right. — Detroit  Free  Press. 
A   love   story   of   enthralling,   dramatic   power.   — Baltimore 
American. 

The  women  of  this  story  are  especially  attractive. — Boston 
Transcript. 

A  fascinating,  beautiful  romance. — Los  Angeles  Examiner. 

You  will  be  glad  you  read  it;  it  will  hold  you  fast  until  you 
have  read  it  to  the  end.  In  this  day  of  problems  and  piffle,  "The 
Treasure  of  Hidden  Valley"  is  very  refreshing. — Denver  News. 

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BY  WILLIS  GEORGE  EMERSON 

BUELL  HAMPTON 

A  TALE  OF  LOVE, 

OF  SURPRISES,  OF 

A  MYSTERY 

"Buell  Hampton"  is  a  good  story  in  every  particular. 
Nothing  better  has  been  done  in  its  line. — The  Mirror  (St. 
Louis). 

One  of  the  leading  books  of  the  year.  Every  page  breathes; 
is  alive  with  people  who  do  things  and  say  bright  and  witty 
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As  a  distinctly  American  novel,  "Buell  Hampton"  has,  for 
abundance  of  thrilling  incident  and  pure  interestingness,  no 
superior. — Albany  Times-Union. 

Many  a  year  has  passed  since  so  strong,  so  bright,  and  so 
clever  a  novel  as  "Buell  Hampton"  has  made  its  appearance. 
There  are  no  dull  patches  in  it.  Every  page  is  filled  with 
dewy  freshness. — Opie  Read. 

From  the  very  beginning  the  reader  is  impressed  with  its 
plot  and  striking  incidents.  Buell  Hampton  is  a  character 
we  have  never  met  in  books.  The  romance  is  absorbingly 
interesting.  There  are  plenty  of  surprises  in  the  book,  and 
once  begun,  the  reader  will  not  be  satisfied  until  he  has 
finished  the  story. — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

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THE  BUILDERS 

Strikingly  interesting. — Cincinnati  Enquirer. 

Has  scored  a  great  success. — Los  Angeles  Graphic. 

A  broad,  powerful,  successful  novel. — New  York  Herald. 

There  is  no  story  of  the  West  like  it. — Boston  Globe. 

A  really  notable  story  of  the  West. — Philadelphia  Press. 

In  reading  "The  Builders,"  one  reaches  the  heights  of 
tragedy  and  melodrama. — San  Francisco  Bulletin. 

Not  only  readable,  but  downright  interesting,  for  it  pos 
sesses  a  romantic  quality  that  lures  on  the  reader,  page  after 
page. — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"The  Builders"  is  a  book  for  men  who  glory  in  accom 
plishments,  for  women  who  delight  in  detail,  and  for  lovers 
who  revel  in  sympathetic  understanding. — Los  Angeles 
Examiner. 

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